


Summertime Madness

by Copgirl1964



Series: Summertime Mystrade [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Freckles, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Implied Anal Sex, Jealous Sherlock, Lapdance, Light Bondage, M/M, Making Love, Masturbation, Moonlight, Mystrade fluff, Oral Sex, Pre-Johnlock, Skinny Dipping, Swimming Boys, Teenage Mystrade, Tickling, beach party, motorcycle, striptease, watching a movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 38,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>19 year old Mycroft has to spend four weeks at his grand-parents' house in the country - together with Sherlock and his friend John Watson. The first day is spend at a lake nearby and that is where he meets 22 year old Greg Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunshine and Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the mistakes - this story isn't beta-ed by a native speaker.

The rustling of leaves was the only warning Mycroft got before a cold, wet something hit him on the back and bounced off. He gave a startled cry but the ball that ended in the next bush hadn't hurt him. Moments later he heard the pounding of bare feet approaching and the owner of the ball, at least he presumed he was, came crashing through the low-hanging branches of the weeping willow he was lying under.

A slim man, probably three years older than himself, wearing only pair of black swimming-trunks, stopped in front of him. Mycroft's eyes went wide. Tanned skin, a shock of dark brown hair, eyes the colour of chocolate and a smile that probably could melt icebergs – the image was immediately engraved into his retina. 

“I'm sorry. Hope you didn't get hurt.” 

“No.” Mycroft shook is head, to emphasize his statement as much as to kick his brain back into gear.

“The ball flew into that bush.” He pointed to the right but the brown eyes didn't follow his hand. Instead the man gave him a once-over that made Mycroft's skin tingle. Eventually he blinked.

“Oh, sorry. The ball is...?”

Mycroft pointed again at the bush in question from where the ball was retrieved a moment later.

“You play ball?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, do you want to join us?” 

Mycroft blinked owlishly. “No, I...” He held up the book he had been reading.

The man actually looked disappointed. But then the smile came back.

“Greg.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Greg. Greg Lestrade.”

“Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft replied.

“Pleasure meeting you, Myc.” And without another word the man turned and ran back from where he had come.

Mycroft turned back to the page he had marked with his finger but suddenly the Cold War had lost its appeal. 

He was on summer holiday after his first year at university. His mother had been adamant that he was not to work during the summer break. An on top of that he and his younger brother were to spend four weeks at their grand-parents' house in the country.  
For once Sherlock hadn't protested because Mummy had allowed him to bring a friend along, a boy named John Watson. Sherlock and John were inseparable. This morning they had decided to go down to the lake and their grandmother had insisted that Mycroft should tag along to get some fresh air and sunlight on his skin. Sunlight on his skin was really the last thing Mycroft needed and he had quickly found a perfect place under the weeping willow where he was not only hidden from sight but also the sun. 

Sherlock had coated himself in several layers of sunscreen before he and John had chosen the side of the lake directly opposite to Mycroft's location. Mycroft had thought he could spy on his brother and his friend with a pair of binoculars he had brought but apparently Sherlock had expected that move. When Mycroft had tried to take a peep, Sherlock had a small mirror ready and had blinded him quite efficiently. The last thing Mycroft had seen before the ray of sunlight had hit him in the eye was John Watson making a rude gesture.

With as much dignity as he could muster, Mycroft had returned to his blanket under the willow to read.

* * *

Greg was thrilled that he could spend the whole of four weeks at his grand-parents' house in Somerset. He loved being in the old house with the impressive garden. His grand-mother grew all sorts of vegetables, his grand-father grew roses and bred chickens. Coming to their house was always like going back in time. The air smelled of the flowers from the garden and hay from a stable that was now used for a garage and to store hay for a neighbour. 

This morning he had chosen to join some guys from the village down at the lake. They had been playing ball for fifteen minutes when the ball flew into the weeping willow. Greg, more than just a little fed up with the stupid jokes of his mates, had gone to fetch the ball. The yelp he had heard coming from underneath the tree's branches had told him, that the ball had hit someone. 

He had been more than a little surprised to find a young man under the tree. He had guessed he must be about nineteen years old. Ginger hair and fair skin dappled with freckles – it made sense that he took shelter from the sun. He wore a pair of light-blue shorts and a chequered shirt. When he had looked at him with startling blue eyes and spoken with a voice of pure silk, Greg had felt his knees go weak. Mycroft. What an unusual name. Greg had recognized the book about the cold war. He had to read it for a course in politics. Not his favourite topic and the book had been difficult to read but now it seemed like the chance to start a conversation next time he met Mycroft.

* * *

It was noon when Mycroft heard approaching footsteps and the rustling of leaves that announced a visitor under his tree. To his surprise Greg stuck his head through the branches.

“Knock, knock,” he called out. “Mind if I come in?”

“No.” Mycroft couldn't prevent a smile sneaking onto his face when he caught sight of his visitor.  
Mycroft had just fished a couple of plastic containers with his lunch from his backpack and a thermos with contained a chilled, light white wine. 

“Would you care to join me?” 

Why did he say that? He never invited other students at university to share his lunch. But then, he had never met someone as exquisite as Greg at uni. 

“You're having lunch? Let me get mine.” Greg turned around and ran to where-ever he had left his belongings. He returned a couple of minutes later, throwing a beach-towel and a backpack next to Mycroft's blanket before he sat down.

Mycroft put the open containers within easy reach for both of them. One box contained cubes of feta cheese, olives and dried tomatoes, the other a few thin slices of ham. He opened a paper bag with baguette and then poured some wine into a glass for Greg and into the cap of the thermos for himself.

Greg unpacked a box with self-made egg-salad and a couple of slices of bread. 

“For dessert,” he said, holding up a container with fresh strawberries. 

“That looks very agreeable to me,” Mycroft stated, his eyes roaming over the various delicacies.

“Indeed,” Greg murmured but when Mycroft looked up he found the man studying him instead of the food. He swallowed.

“Help yourself,” he indicated the food with a sweep of his hand. 

They began eating and along the way Greg told Mycroft that he would start getting his Certificate in Knowledge of Policing (CKP) after summer break for he wanted to become a police officer. But right after he had left school all he had wanted to do was ride his motorcycle and he had travelled around Europe for several months. His mum had been diagnosed with cancer when he came back and he had taken care of her, his dad and his two younger sisters for over a year. He had done some distant learning but he wanted to join the force later this year  
If there was a girl-friend or boy-friend, the handsome man sitting across from Mycroft didn't mention any.

In return Mycroft told him about his first year at university and all the courses he took. Greg did look a bit sceptical when he told him about the courses and the languages he learned but then Mycroft didn't seem to show off. 

Several times their fingers brushed when they reached for the food and not every brush seemed to be accidental. 

Eventually Greg opened the container with the strawberries. He chose one and then offered the container to Mycroft. To their both surprise Mycroft didn't take a strawberry from the container but snatched Greg's hand, that held the single strawberry, sucking the fruit from his fingers.

Greg's eyes went wide and for a moment Mycroft wondered if his deduction had been wrong. But then a delighted smile had spread across the man's face. He chose another strawberry, took it and offered it to Mycroft. Brown eyes watched intently when Mycroft's lips closed around the strawberry as well as his fingertips. 

“May I have one too,” Greg asked politely, his voice rough.

“Certainly.” Mycroft picked one from the container and offered it to Greg. The man took hold of his hand and once he had sucked the strawberry from his grasp he turned the hand ever so slightly to kiss the wrist over the pulse. 

Their eyes locked before Mycroft put the container down and leaned in to kiss Greg's lips. The position was awkward and the touch of lips lasted only for a moment. Greg struggled to his feet and stepped quickly over the containers before he knelt down beside Mycroft. Strong but gentle hands cupped his face and a thumb caressed the corner of one ginger eyebrow before Mycroft leaned in for another kiss. A kiss that tasted of strawberries and wine, sunshine and endless possibilities.


	2. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is looking forward to go back to the lake to meet Greg but first he has to purchase a pair of swimming trunks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, thank you so much for all the kudos. This chapter got a bit longer than I had planned and it is still too short.

Sherlock was almost shocked when his older brother announced over breakfast that he wanted to go back to the swimming lake in the afternoon. Whispers erupted between John and Sherlock, only brought to a halt by their grand-mother's stern voice.  
“That is rather rude,” she scolded. Sherlock looked like he stood above her rebuke but he shut up and John ducked his head and murmured an apology. 

After breakfast the younger teenagers went their own way and Mycroft took the car to get into town. He needed to shop for a pair of swimming trunks. Greg, considerate of Mycroft's sensitive skin, had suggested they could go swimming in the early evening when the lake would be warm and the sun no longer scorching. The idea of frolicking in the lake with Greg sent pleasant shivers down Mycroft's spine.

Standing in the shop he reached the conclusion that picking a pair of swimming trunks was a much more daunting task than he had expected. At least the sales assistant left him alone. It took him half an hour to decide on a dark-blue pair with light-blue stripes at both sides. In his opinion it looked rather nice but would Greg like it? 

He took them off, got dressed again and was about to look for another pair when he spotted his brother and John standing outside the window of the shop. They had shielded their faces from the sun with both their hands, trying to look inside. Mycroft had an inkling that the boys had hitched a ride in the boot of the car. Unwilling to give them the satisfaction of seeing him struggle with  buying a piece of clothing, he went to pay. 

Nevertheless he was pleased to see Sherlock and John. Mycroft enjoyed spending time with his brother but since he had started university they hardly saw each other. Also he was curious about John Watson. The boy with his short blond hair and huge blue eyes, that looked at Sherlock with the unmistakable signs of hero-worship, appeared as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. However, closer observation revealed that John was a quite mischievous character. 

Mycroft treated the boys some ice-cream and listening to what they had done the day before and were up to this afternoon, before they headed back.

* * *

When the clock approached two Mycroft was ready to burst from anxiety and his catalogue of questions that began with 'what if?' had got rather large. What if Greg didn't show up? What if Greg didn't like his swimming trunks? What if Greg didn't like the freckles that covered him from head to toe? Or the hair that had begun to grow on his chest? What if he didn't like the way he talked? 

It was only 2.30 when he put his backpack and a dinner his grand-mother had provided into the boot of the car, checking in the process if he didn't have two stowaways on board again, and set off for the lake. He arrived fifteen minutes early but he had just parked the car when a motorcycle came roaring around the corner. Greg stopped beside his car and took off his helmet. A brilliant smile on his face, Greg dismounted his bike.

“God, Myc, I can hardly believe you are here.” The man's relief was palpable. “I was so afraid you wouldn't come. Or I would be late and that maybe you wouldn't wait.”

Mycroft felt tears of happiness well up in his eyes. He never would have guessed that the older man shared his fears.

“I feel the same,” he confessed before he grinned broadly at Greg. 

“Yeah?” Greg ran his fingers through his hair. Shrugging out of his jacket he looked at the car.

“Mind if I put helmet and jacket inside the boot?”

He shook his head and opened the boot for Greg to throw his stuff inside. “I'm glad you are here,” Mycroft told him, running one hand over his arm.

Instead of answering, Greg turned, pulled him close and kissed him. All doubts flew out the window when Mycroft felt Greg's tongue caressing his bottom-lip. Opening his mouth, he sucked in the inquisitive tongue, touching it with the tip of his own. Mycroft wasn't experienced when it came to kissing but he was a keen observer and the fastest learner around. When Greg tangled one hand into the ginger hair of the younger man and pulled him close by the hip with the other, Mycroft already knew how to turn the experience of kissing into a very pleasurable affair.

It took them all but five minutes to be completely out of breath.

“Unless...,” Greg panted, “unless you want me to bend you over the bonnet and have you right here, we better stop.”

“I... oh... no.” Mycroft stammered.

Greg smiled. “Neither do I. I want our first time to be special. Not a romp on the car where everybody can watch.”

They closed their eyes for a moment, each taking a few deep, steadying breaths. Then they shouldered their backpacks and headed for the weeping willow.

* * *

Not sooner than they arrived, Greg began to undress. Mycroft watched with wide-eyed rapture when the handsome man dug through his backpack, hunting for his swimming trunks, wearing nothing but a few rays of sun that had managed their way through the foliage, undoubtedly with the purpose to end their journey on Greg's lovely skin.

Greg caught him looking. The expression of pure admiration in the younger man's eyes caused Greg's heartbeat to step up a notch. He had planned to go for a quick swim anyway but now he was in serious need of cold water. How could someone, who was both beautiful and bright, be such an innocent? Of course, Greg wasn't a hundred percent sure but from all he had seen in the short time, Mycroft was anything but experienced. Although he did kiss like a professional.

Greg had barely left when Mycroft tumbled out of his own clothes to quickly change into his swimming trunks. Only now his shirt looked rather silly. Two options. Bare torso or changing back into his shorts. Before he could make a decision, Greg was back. The water glistened on his skin and his brown eyes swept appraisingly over Mycroft's chest. Without drying himself off he stretched out on the beach-towel. 

* * *

Mycroft usually had a very accurate sense of time but how quickly the hours passed this very afternoon confused him. It couldn't be later than five when instead it was six thirty already. 

He and Greg had spent the afternoon lying on Mycroft's blanket. They had eaten the food they had brought, Mycroft had read while Greg had taken a nap and they had talked about the book. It was still the one about the cold war. Usually Mycroft read through such a book easily within a day but Greg proved to be quite a distraction. When he had slept, Mycroft had watched how his chest rose and fell and the small moves he made in his sleep.

It was shortly after seven when Greg got up. 

“Come on, Myc. Let's go for a swim.”

He offered his hand to Mycroft and once he had taken the hand, pulled him to his feet. It was still pleasantly warm when they walked the few meters to the lake-shore. 

Mycroft couldn't remember having swum in a lake before. He felt the soft mud under the soles of his feet when he walked slowly into the cool water. 

Greg didn't do slowly when he went into the water. He let go of Mycroft's hand, and leaped from the shallow shore into the deeper water after only a few steps. His head re-appeared and with a long sweep of his arm, Greg threw water towards Mycroft who promptly slipped on the muddy ground and with a yelp joined Greg in the lake.

They splashed around, ducking and chasing after each other. Water sprayed everywhere and they laughed so hard, their bellies hurt. Mycroft couldn't remember the last time he had had that much fun.

Eventually they tired of the game and swam to the other side of the lake. When they had reached the shore Mycroft pulled Greg close and kissed him. Their fingers tangled in their hair and hands rubbed over slippery, wet skin. 

Greg tugged Mycroft to a patch of grass, hidden from view by the reed. He pushed the younger man onto his back and before Mycroft could even utter a protest Greg was on top of him. 

They kept kissing and exploring each other's bodies until all that was left were soft moans and the heady scent of pleasure.


	3. Riding Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft go for a ride on Greg's motorcycle - after Greg helped his grandfather build a fence and aggravating John and Sherlock.

Greg was swinging the hammer, driving one nail after the other forcefully into the wood. He had promised his grandfather to help him building a new wooden fence. Over the past couple of days they had dug holes and set the posts, today the planks were attached.  
Noticing the amused look of his grandfather, Greg stretched and took a gulp from his water bottle before reaching for the next nail.

"You look happy, Gregory," the old man said.

"Yeah, guess I do." Greg smiled and combed his fingers through his hair.

"And?"

"And I'm going to see him later today."

"Him?"

Greg looked down. He knew that his grandfather had issues with him being bi-sexual.

"Look, Gregory, I can't help it. To me it feels", he took a deep breath, "odd that two men... well you know." The man's embarrassment was palpable. "I want you to be happy and if he..."

"Mycroft!"

"Mycroft? Weird name, but okay. If Mycroft makes you happy, than it is fine with me. But you have to be aware that there are people who will judge you. Especially in the police when you start your training. You would think in 1985 people are liberal and all but people haven't evolved that much since 1885. There are reasons why you haven't heard about gay football stars."

"I don't care," Greg almost shouted, "and besides, we've only met the day before yesterday. Doesn't mean this is serious." Greg felt deep inside him that those last words were not true. Just speaking Mycroft's name caused a whole swarm of butterflies to rampage in his stomach.

His grandfather smiled and put his large warm hand on Greg's shoulder. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, Gregory. Your Mycroft is welcome in this house." 

When his grandson didn't look up he nudged him slightly. "Let's get on."

They kept working quietly and the tension slowly eased away. By lunchtime they were done and both man looked proudly at the fence. Greg took a shower and wolfed down the salad and sandwiches his grand-mother provided. He had all intentions to read a book about criminal investigations but the full stomach and the sunshine made him tired. He fell asleep under one of the large appletrees in the garden.  
His dreams circled around Mycroft, stretched out in all his naked glory in the grass beside him, the sun giving his ginger hair a golden hue.

* * *

As soon as dinner was over, Mycroft excused himself from the table and went to his room. After a catlick he put on a touch of cologne and changed into a pair of jeans. He had just pulled a plain white t-shirt with a v-neck over his head, when he heard the roar of Greg's motorcycle outside.

When he arrived downstairs, he found Greg sitting on his bike, talking to John and Sherlock. John circled the bike, clearly curious and interested in the engine itself, while Sherlock glared at Greg with an expression he usually reserved for particular nasty insects he intended to dissect and study under his microscope.

Recognizing the jealousy, Greg grinned at the teenager. "Hey, Curly, no need to get fed up. I'll bring him back unharmed."

Mycroft hid the laughter that bubbled up in a coughing fit, when he watched his younger brother bristle with consternation. If there had ever been a nickname that aggravated Sherlock, it was Curly.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock told Greg, trying to look down his rather cute teenager nose like his brother did.

Mycroft concluded that when it came to looking down one's nose, his proved to be an advantage in this particular case.

Greg gave Sherlock a huge smile, presenting his incisors.

"Nice to meet you, Curly."

"Hey, "John Watson stretched to his full hight and stood with a rather menacing expression on his face beside his friend, "he said his name is Sherlock."

"And you are...?"

"John Watson."

Greg could almost hear an inaudible 'at your service' after the name.

He kept smiling at John and Sherlock. "So, Little John, you're the protector of Curly Holmes."

Mycroft saw John clench his hands into fists and groaned. It was not a good idea to aggravate them any further.

"Careful, Greg. Those two are thick as thieves and you don't want them being your enemies."

"I was just teasing them," Greg told Mycroft. Turning to the bristling teenagers, he added, "Sorry, but you two just looked too cute together. I'll make it up."

"I don't see how you could achieve such a task," Sherlock told him. He turned to Mycroft. "You might consider seeing a doctor. Your mind most certainly has suffered greatly if you spend your time willingly with this individual."

Both Sherlock and John turned up their noses and stalked away. Mycroft bit his lips to hide his grin.

"Their looks turned positively murderous when you said they looked cute?"

"Yes, I'll try not to be too surprised when I wake up tomorrow and find out that they stabbed me in my sleep." 

Greg smiled happily at Mycroft, took off his backpack and pulled out a spare helmet as well as a kidney belt. He helped him fasten the helmet and when the belt was secured around his waist, Mycroft mounted the motorcycle, seating himself behind Greg. 

He had never ridden on a motorcycle and was a bit nervous but he trusted that Greg wouldn't do anything stupid, especially with neither of them wearing any protective clothes.

The engine roared to life and Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg's midriff when the motorcycle began to move.

* * *

Mycroft had never thought that riding on a motorcycle could be such an invigorating experience. He leaned forward, his chest pressed to Greg's back and he mirrored his moves. Fields, trees, hedges - the whole landscape zipped by and Mycroft felt as if he was flying.

Greg finally pulled over after about an hour and Mycroft climbed down when Greg switched off the engine. Greg too dismounted the bike and they both took off their helmets. He led Mycroft along a path that ended after half a kilometre on top of a hill. Dusk began to settle and for a few minutes they just stood on top of the hill, admiring the view. Meadows and copses and in the distance the next town were visible through the haze. 

“It's beautiful,” Mycroft said. “I've never been here before.” 

Greg pointed to a natural step at the slope. “Have a seat. This is literally the front row.”

Mycroft sat down obediently. “The front row for what?” he asked, when Greg seated himself behind him.

“A great show,” Greg whispered. He pulled Mycroft's head to his chest, threaded his fingers through the fine hair and tipped his head back to kiss him. His arms resting comfortably on Greg's thighs, Mycroft fully surrendered to the sensation the brush of lips against his own brought. 

Eventually Greg released his lips and brought his mouth close to Mycroft's ear. “Try not to make a sound and no sudden movements.”

Mycroft blinked that he had understood.

“Look down the slope,” Greg told him. 

When Mycroft did, his mouth fell open in surprise. Maybe a hundred metres in front of them, a small herd of stags stood in the middle of the meadow. They sat upwind, and as they stayed immobile the animals didn't notice them.

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft's shoulders and he rested his chin on top of his head. He had watched the stags countless times but this was the first time he saw them in all their beauty.


	4. Sensations, feeling and other curiosities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myc and Greg making love after their trip on the motorcycle. Sherlock and John wait for Mycroft to return and Sherlock in particular ponders what the whole kissing is about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I suck at summaries
> 
> Thanks all for reading, I hope you still enjoy the story.

The next day found Mycroft writhing with pleasure in the arms of his lover. In the middle of the night, after their excursion with the motorcycle, Greg had brought Mycroft home to his grandparents' house.

"They always go to bed at nine," Greg had told him. He had taken Mycroft's hand and led him upstairs to his room. There they had kissed, undressed each other and kissed some more.

Mycroft had already looked beautifully dishevelled with pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing when Greg nudged him down to the bed.

"I'm going to make love to you now," he had announced and begun to bestow feather-light touches with his lips as well as determined strokes with his tongue upon Mycroft, who quickly could no longer hold back the noises that spilled incoherently from his mouth.

"Sing for me, my love," Greg whispered before he took him in his mouth and Mycroft, who had never felt anything that could be remotely compared to the pleasure that shot through his body, obeyed and kept moaning Greg's name over and over until he dissolved into orgasm.

Greg held him close and stroke the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead while Mycroft recovered. Eventually Mycroft looked at his still painfully aroused lover with slightly hooded eyes and pulled him in for a kiss. He ran his hands along the slim but well muscled torso, marvelling at the tanned skin and the dusting of hair.

When Greg allowed the younger man to roll him onto his back, he didn't know that the next half hour would prove to be the most pleasurable he had experienced so far. Every sound and every twitch Greg made, was registered and acted upon accordingly. Working downwards in slow circles, Mycroft took Greg apart with finger, lips and tongue. Soon the man begun to beg for release but it only resulted in having the stimulation rationed and being held at the throes of orgasm.

"Please, Myc. I can take no more. Let me..."

Mycroft thrust a pillow into Greg's hand before he increased his stimulation. And Greg buried his face in the soft material, using it to muffle the howl he produced when he arched into the touch and came violently.

They would have liked nothing better than to sleep through the night, curled around each other in Greg's bed but Mycroft knew that Sherlock would be up, waiting for him. 

Slightly wobbly legs carried both men to the motorcycle for the ride back to the house of Mycroft's grandparents.

* * *

Two sets of keen eyes were watching Mycroft and Greg from a window upstairs. The motorcycle was parked at the curb for they hadn't wanted to disturb the other occupants of the house; but John and Sherlock had waited for Mycroft to return. 

Now the boys watched curiously when neither Mycroft nor Greg seemed to be able to let go; as they kept talking in quiet voices, hugging and snogging the dear life out of the other.

"Do you think they like kissing?" Sherlock asked John incredulously.

"Sure, otherwise they wouldn't keep doing it."

"John?"

"Yeah."

"Kiss me!"

"What???"

"Kiss me! I want to know what it's like." Sherlock looked at his friend.

John considered the request for a moment before the shrugged, took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him on the mouth.

Sherlock blinked and licked his lips, once John had pulled back.

"So?" John asked.

"Hmm..."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I thought there'd be more to it," Sherlock told him.

"Maybe you need to participate as well."

"Participate?"

"Yes, you kiss me the moment I kiss you."

"Oh, okay!"

Sherlock pulled John close and this time they both pursed their lips, kissing each other. It lasted all but a couple of seconds but when they pulled apart their cheeks were flushed. Neither of them spoke but then Sherlock stretched and yawned. 

"I'm tired," he announced, crawled into his bed and pulled the duvet up to his ears until only his hair was visible.

John looked a bit thunderstruck. He could still feel his friend's lips on his mouth and tried unsuccessfully to make sense of what had just happened. Eventually John too climbed into his bed.

"Good night, Sherlock!"

"I'm asleep," came the muffled reply.

John huffed but curled up in his bed and closed his eyes. 

Although they were tired, it took both boys a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

Carlton and Samantha Holmes exchanged several glances over breakfast. Mycroft was moving toast and scrambled egg around his plate instead of eating, staring dreamily out of the window. Sherlock and John hardly looked at each other. They had their eyes trained at their plates, their faces wearing bemused expressions.

“Well”, Carlton Holmes slammed his palm forcefully on the tabletop, startling the three teenagers almost out of their respective skin, “what are your plans for today?”

“Dunno,” John offered, taking a large bite from his jam covered piece of toast for he knew that talking with the mouth full was not encouraged.

“I have a couple of books I need to read,” Mycroft said, when he felt the scrutiny had shifted in his direction.

“You're not meeting that friend of yours?” Samantha asked. “Greg?”

Mycroft's complexion turned to a deep scarlet when the name was mentioned.

“No, he had to return to his parents' house today and won't be back before tomorrow night.”

“What about you, Sherlock?” Carlton put a restraining hand over Sherlock's when he saw that his grandson intended to avoid and answer by using the same tactic as John. 

“I too have some books to read.”Sherlock didn't look up.

Samantha and Carlton shook their heads and exchanged glances. Teenage minds were still beyond their grasp. 

* * *

Greg sat in the back of his parents' car, sulking. His mother had told him it was important he came home for one night but neither one of his parents would tell him why. He was twenty-two and could have refused but usually his parents had very good reason for their actions. 

When they arrived home, his mother handed him a letter that had come in a couple of days earlier, telling him tomorrow he had to appear at the assessment centre of the Metropolitan Police in London for his test. Both parents smiled brightly when their son screamed with joy and kept hugging them over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, I made up the names of the Holmesian grandparents. 
> 
> I don't know if the Metropolitan Police has an assessment centre for those you want to join the force but I guess they do ask people who want to become policemen that they do some sort of test. 
> 
> Please, do tell me what you think of the story so far.


	5. The Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg passed the test and invites Mycroft to a club to celebrate. To his utter shock, Mycroft discovers that Greg wears a leather strap with a ring.

Greg was surprised when he woke up in the morning and discovered that he had slept through the whole night without waking up. Today he had to do the test and in the past each exam had kept him awake for hours. Now he was calm and actually looking forward to the test. He was a little nervous but realised that was to be expected. 

He took out a light-grey suit from his closet and chose to wear a white shirt and burgundy tie. Before he got dressed he pulled out his good-luck charm, a golden ring he wore with a leather strap around his neck. 

“Ready to go?” his mother asked when he came into the kitchen. She brushed her hand over his suit-clad shoulder.

“Yes.” He kissed her cheek and took his backpack.

“Good luck! I know you're going to be brilliant.”

“Thanks mum!” 

And with that Greg was off.

* * *

It was about four in the afternoon when the phone rang. 

“Sherlock Homes.”

“Oh, hi, Sherlock, it's Greg Lestrade. Could I talk to Mycroft, please?”

“I'm surprised. You do know my name after all.” 

“I already told you, I'm sorry.”

Greg heard some whispers over the phone. Sherlock's friend obviously was present too. 

“Yes, and you told John and I, you would make it up to us, which is something that has yet to happen.”

“How about I invite you all to a film?”

“A film?”

“Yes, we could watch Back to the Future,” Greg suggested.

“Not interested,” Sherlock replied but a second voice could be heard, although Sherlock obviously covered the receiver with his hand. 

“I would be interested,” John told Sherlock 

“You are?” Sherlock asked, no longer covering the receiver with his hand.

“What? Sherlock?”

“I'm not talking to you, Lestrade.”

“It's Greg.” 

“I'm still not talking to you.”

Greg counted to ten and tried again.

“Since you aren't talking to me anyway, could you please get Mycroft on the phone?”

“Maybe.”

Greg closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, your demands?”

More whispers before Sherlock could be heard again.

“We want...” Sherlock didn't get around telling Greg the ransom he and John had decided on. Another voice became audible, Greg heard a hissed “No!” and “Can you for once behave according to the age your passport states?” and two seconds later Greg had Mycroft on the phone.

“Mycroft Holmes speaking.”

“Hey Myc, it's Greg.”

“Greg!” Mycroft's voice had gone up a whole octave. “Are you back at your grandparents' house?”

“Not yet. Listen, Myc, I've got great news. Can I see you tonight? At eight? I'd pick you up.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Terrific! And, Myc, wear something nice.”

Before Mycroft could ask any further questions, Greg had hung up.

 

Mycroft looked at the receiver incredulously before he hung up. Turning around he found himself confronted with two teenagers who stood there with their arms crossed in front of their chest.

“We are coming with you tonight,” Sherlock told him.

“And how do intend to do that? Run alongside the motorcycle?” Mycroft wiggled his eyebrows at his brother, knowing it got him into a tizzy. Physically Sherlock could do most things Mycroft could, except 'the eyebrow thing' as Sherlock called it.

“He promised us a film,” John said, moving a bit closer to Sherlock for support.

“A film?”

“Yes, Back to the Future.”

“Well, how about we're all going to see it on Saturday? After we went to Giulia for pizza and pasta.”

John had no idea what sort of place Giulia was but from the way Sherlock's face lit up when Mycroft mentioned the name, it was a good place to go.”

“All right,” both Sherlock and John agreed generously.

Finding himself in an affectionate mood, Mycroft grabbed both boys and pulled them in for a group hug. He enjoyed the millisecond both hugged back before they remembered they were far too old for this kind of nonsense and wiggled out of his embrace with plenty of huffs and 'ughs'. 

He watched them retreat, brushing invisible specks of dirt off their clothes in their consternation. 

 

Mycroft went to his room to decide on something nice to wear. He had already figured out that for Greg 'something nice' could be anything from his best suit to just a bow around his most precious piece of equipment. A suit (or just the bow) was out of the question, for Greg would pick him up for another ride on his bike. 

Eventually he settled for a pair of jeans for practicality and a shirt with light and dark blue strips and white collar and cuffs for the nice part. Combined with a leather jacket and black ankle boots he did look nice. Hopefully Greg would think so too. 

Now he had only three hours to kill without anticipation driving him out of his mind. 

* * *

When Greg arrived, Mycroft was already waiting at the curb. Apparently he wanted to avoid Greg getting into another discussion with Sherlock and John. Since they couldn't be seen from the house, they kissed quickly before Mycroft put on the helmet and they rode off.

 

Twenty minutes later they arrived in the town and Greg parked his motorcycle in a side street. Like before Mycroft felt vitalized from the sheer pleasure of riding the bike together with his boyfriend. He blushed upon that string of thought. Was it okay to think of Greg as his boyfriend?

“You're okay?” Greg asked.

When Mycroft nodded he took his hand and interlaced their fingers. Holding hands they walked along the street and came to the market place. They went to a club; a sign over the door read “Liquor Leak”. Inside it was surprisingly tasteful decorated, music played not too loud and Greg led him to a table in a niche. 

“You can have anything you like,” Greg told him. 

Mycroft leaned over the table. “I have already decided.”

“Yeah?” Greg looked surprised, having not even begun to study the list of cocktails.

“You!” Mycroft told him.

“If I can have you in return.”

“Any time you like.” 

The waitress arrived at their table a minute or so later but saw clearly that neither one of these two guest had decided on a drink.

“I'll come back later,” she said, leaving the enraptured looking men alone. 

 

They managed to decide on their cocktails eventually and Greg finally told Mycroft that he passed the test for joining the police with flying colours. Training would start in a few weeks time. 

Greg leaned over the table and Mycroft, who had used the chance to catch a glimpse at Greg's chest, spotted the leather strap with the ring. His thoughts came to a stuttering halt. Mycroft couldn't help but stare at the piece of jewellery.

For a moment Greg was confused, seeing Mycroft's bewildered expression but then it dawned on him.

“It is not what you think it is,” he said, touching the younger man's cheek with his fingers before he leaned back and pulled the leather strap over his head to show him the ring.

“What is it, that I'm thinking?” Mycroft asked, feeling defensive. 

“Maybe that the ring is proof, I'm with someone else.”

“But that is not the case?” Mycroft still couldn't look at the handsome man, who had trained his eyes on him.

“No, Silly! Look at me, please.” 

Mycroft looked into Greg's face which was nothing but honest.

“I'm not that type of person. I don't play with people's hearts and I'm so faithful that it borders to stupidity.”

Maybe Greg still saw a bit of doubt in Mycroft's eyes for he added, “There's no-one but you!”

Upon those words Mycroft couldn't help but grin like a maniac. 

 

They drank from their cocktails, before Greg gave him a loop-sided smile. “Have you read Lord of the Rings?”

The trilogy was among the fiction Mycroft actually had read. He nodded.

“Well, when I first read it, I wanted a ring like the one in the book. Not the evil kind of ring but one with a cool engraving. The price they charge at the jewellery store was too much for me but some weeks later I saw that ring at a flea market. Apparently the ring was a leftover from a romance gone bad. It does have an engraving inside which I can't read. It looked a bit elvish to me.” Greg blushed.

“May I see it?” Mycroft asked. 

Taking the ring and holding it to the light of the small lamp, he recognized the Cyrillic letters. 

“It's Russian and translates into eternal love.”

“You speak Russian?” Greg's chocolate eyes revealed all the admiration he felt for Mycroft's skills and knowledge.

“Amongst a few other languages,” Mycroft replied.

“Tell me!”

And Mycroft told Greg about all the languages he spoke and the skills he had, for once not feeling like a freakish outsider.


	6. Moonlight in your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft go back to their lake at night, where a surprise is waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a bit shorter but frankly I didn't expected that I could manage another chapter today to begin with. Thanks to Greg and Mycroft, who were quite insistent, it was possible after all.  
> And I apologize for this chapter being rather fluffy. :-)

Mycroft was a bit proud of himself. The day so far had been both pleasant a well as productive. He had helped his grandfather sorting through some papers, had spent sufficient time with Sherlock and John and had gotten some reading done. He had eaten a light dinner and now was ready to go. For a change he would pick up Greg. They wanted to spend some more time at the lake again and Greg had promised him a surprise. 

 

When Mycroft arrived at the house of Greg's grandparents he was ushered inside to say hello to the old folks, like Greg called them affectionately. Pierre Lestrade was a Frenchman but first work and a few years later love had made him a permanent resident in Somerset. His wife Martha had worked as a gardener and when she had retired continued gardening at home quite successfully. Almost every year she won a prize for her vegetables. 

Martha and Pierre Lestrade studied their grandson's friend with guarded curiosity, their whole demeanour reflecting that Mycroft was welcome in their house as long as he didn't hurt Greg or cause him any harm. 

Once introductions had been made, Greg took Mycroft's hand and gave him a tour through the garden. To his surprise, Mycroft knew quite a lot about his grandfather's roses. Well maybe he shouldn't have been surprised for his boyfriend was brilliant.

 

Boyfriend. His boyfriend! Greg allowed the word to roll around his tongue. It hadn't been a week since they had first met but, boy, did it feel intense. A constant longing in his loins was a matter of youth, as well as the fact that Mycroft was a real eye-catcher, Greg knew. But there were deeper urges than having sex with him on a regular bases. Having him by his side made Greg feel complete and loved. It was too soon to speak of love but Greg felt that Mycroft already loved him and he loved him back. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts.” Mycroft nudged Greg's temple with his nose, making the man smile. 

“As of late, it is you I'm thinking of constantly and right now I marvel upon your brilliant mind again.” Greg kissed the tip of the inquisitive nose and laughed when Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at him.

"How do you know so much about roses?”

“As long as I can remember, my mother drags me to the annual Chelsea Flower Show. The first year I was bored out of my skull but the next I listened to some of the lectures and discovered that they were rather informative. I couldn't help but memorize a few information.”

“Of course you couldn't.” Greg laughed softly and kissed the brilliant young man. “How about we get going? It'll be dark soon. But first”, he held out his hand, “you owe me a penny.”

* * *

Half an hour later Mycroft parked his car near their lake. Greg pulled a duffel bag from the boot of the car and they walked to the shore. They went to a corner near the lake where Mycroft discovered to his great surprise a large patch of lavender. Greg told him that several years ago he had planted it for it was a natural repellent for mosquitoes. The lavender had grown quickly and provided now enough scent to keep the pesky insects at bay.

They spread the blanket on the ground and lay down. Greg used a rolled up towel for a pillow and Mycroft used Greg's shoulder. It was perfect. 

The moon would be very bright that night but a single cloud had moved in front of it, keeping the sky dark.

“What time is it?” 

“Ten o'clock sharp.”

“Good.” Greg combed with his fingers through Mycroft's hair. He didn't dare doing anything more elaborate, knowing they wouldn't be able to stop and this little surprise would be spoiled. 

They gazed into the sky and Greg thought that Mycroft could probably name every single constellation. 

He looked at the western sky and suddenly he saw what he had been waiting for.

“Look over there,” he pointed to a tiny dot that was moving to the east. 

“What is that?” Mycroft asked. 

“It's Spacelab and the Challenger. When I was in London there was a report on th radio that they would be visible tonight shortly after ten.”

They looked at the tiny dot as it moved across the sky and disappeared from view only two minutes later. 

 

Mycroft was speechless. That Greg had thought about showing both Spacelab and the shuttle Challenger to him was amazing to begin with. The fact that they had shared the experience was even more special. 

The cloud moved on and suddenly the lake, the meadow and both men were immersed in the silvery light of the moon. Without speaking they sat up and looked first at the lake and then at each other. 

“Thank you, Greg. That was really special.”

Mycroft's hand trembled slightly as he touched the side of Greg's face and his voice was hoarse the next time he spoke. “I can see the moonlight in your eyes.” He swallowed. “You're so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you are,” Greg replied, before he pulled Mycroft in for a kiss. 

The kiss lasted only a few seconds because they wanted to look at each other, marvelling how the silvery light made their eyes and their skin glow in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spacelab was launched 1983 and in summer 1985 the Challenger was up there for mission STS-51-F. I actually don't remember if Spacelab was visible because it was so much smaller than the ISS. But then I once saw the Russian space station MIR. So I guess it was possible. 
> 
> Mycroft being dragged to the Chelsea Flower Show I "stole" from Mummy Cumberbatch taking her son there. I hope you don't mind. :-)


	7. The Power of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took the title of this chapter from a song in the movie "Back to the Future" our favourite four are going to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, didn't manage to update yesterday for I was up and about the whole day. But I guess you still going to enjoy it.

It was still early in the morning when Mycroft woke up. He looked at the clock at the bedside table. 5:45. Outside it was grey and the drumming of raindrops on the roof above him could be heard.  
He stretched languidly, enjoying the warmth of the bed and the memory of last night. 

After watching the tiny dot of Spacelab passing, they had made love in the moonlight. The memory of Greg, who's skin had been glowing in the silvery light of the moon, sent a tingling sensation down his spine. His cock reacted with an interested twitch and Mycroft curled his fingers around himself. After a moment of consideration he reached for the tissue box on the bedside table, closed his eyes and gave himself to the pleasure, enhanced by vividly remembering the wicked things Greg had done to him with his hands and mouth.

* * *

Greg didn't wake up before nine thirty. After a quick shower he went to town to pick up the books required for his police training. Once he had brought the Blackwell Books back home he changed into his joggers and went for a run. He knew that in a few weeks he'd get plenty of exercise. Being in decent shape could only help.

After another shower he sat down for a light lunch in his grandmother's domain, her kitchen, and kept her company. It was a comfortable silence with her cooking jam from strawberries and him leafing through Law for Student Police Officers.

A spoon full of strawberry jam appeared in front of Greg's nose.

“For tasting,” his grandmother explained. Greg licked the spoon and groaned. 

“Good?”

“Heavenly. A glass full of summer.” His answer conjured up a smile on the old woman's face.

“Grandma, may I have a glass to take home?”

“Of course, and if you think your Mycroft would like one, he can have a glass too.”

His Mycroft. Greg smiled happily at his grandmother before he went back reading.

* * *

John and Sherlock sat hunched over a book about anatomy when Mycroft found them. 

“Such a serious topic for a holiday?” he asked, the addition 'for John' remained unspoken because Sherlock loved all books about anatomy and chemistry, no matter how advanced. Mycroft knew that his sibling had read an earlier edition of this very book when he had been eight years old. 

“I want to be a doctor and Sherlock helps me,” John told Mycroft. “I'll ask my teacher for an assignment to improve my grade in Biology when school starts again.

Mycroft nodded approvingly. “I just wanted to remind you that we're going to Giulia's tonight and afterwards watch 'Back to the Future'. We'll leave here at six.”

“Cool!” John exclaimed, while Sherlock acknowledged it with nothing but a twitch of the corner of his mouth.

* * *

Both John and Greg agreed with the Holmes' bothers. Food at Giulia's was heavenly! They had shared an Italian set meal with seven courses. Sherlock had been adamant he didn't want anything and had kept stealing food from John's plate. The patient boy had quietly endured, until dessert was served. Not only had he fought Sherlock successfully for his own Tiramisu but to Mycroft and Greg's delight John had even managed to steal some from the serving Sherlock had ordered later. 

They were all so very stuffed that even Sherlock turned down the offer for popcorn. Armed with soft drinks Greg, Mycroft, Sherlock and John took their seats. Between commercials and the film Greg fetched some ice cream. Two for John and Sherlock, one for Mycroft and himself to share. The younger boys watched with disgust as Greg and Mycroft alternately licked the ice cream and exchanged meaningful glances. 

The film began and they all shared laughs about crazy Doc Brown, Biff and Marty's weird parents. Sherlock kept watching Mycroft and Greg from the corner of his eyes, as they held hands and how their eyes kept shifting to each other's face when the word 'love' was spoken. 

It was halfway through the film that Sherlock's curiosity got the better of him. The next time John's hand came within reach, Sherlock took it into his own, startling the boy enough to spill half of his coke. However, John didn't remove his hand but kept stealing glances at Sherlock's face. Sherlock in return tried as inconspicuously as possible to watch his brother and Greg. He even copied the action of Greg rubbing Mycroft's hand with his thumb. Interesting, how John's breathing hitched when he did that, Sherlock thought. But John had a trick or two up his sleeve too. When Sherlock loosened his grip, John snuck his hand to Sherlock's thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Mycroft thought his brother would die right then and there. Knowing what a similar touch from Greg would do to him, he had an idea what Sherlock went through right now. He had a hard time suppressing a broad grin, knowing it would irritate his brother.

When they left the cinema Mycroft and Greg watched with amusement a rather befuddled Sherlock, who barely dared looking at John, who sported a smug grin. 

They piled into the car and only when they were in front of the Holmes' house Mycroft remembered that he had yet to drop of Greg at his own grandparents house. But maybe he would like to see Mycroft's room first? 

John and Sherlock, who had walked quietly to their own room, barely seemed to notice.

* * *

“Can you believe we know each other only for one week,” Greg asked, while they were basking in the afterglow. His head was resting on Mycroft's shoulder, his eyes were closed and his finger's drew lazy circles on his chest. 

Pulling Greg close, Mycroft placed a kiss to his forehead which happened to be in convenient reach.

“It feels much longer and shorter at the same time,” he replied. 

Greg nodded. “You took the words right out of my mouth. It's like I've known you for ages and somehow like we met only yesterday.”

“Doesn't make much sense though,” Mycroft said thoughtfully.

“Doesn't have to.” Greg swung a leg over Mycroft. He kissed him thoroughly, marvelling at how quickly they both got hard again.

“How about a couple more wet patches for you to sleep on later?” 

“You're disgusting,” Mycroft told Greg, but took hold of his well shaped bottom and pulled him tighter to create more friction. “I'm going to change the sheets once I get back from driving you home.”

“I'm deeply wounded, Mr. Holmes,” Greg replied solemnly.

“Idiot!” Mycroft told him, before he kissed the beautiful idiot, who was lying on top of him, into sweet oblivion.


	8. Rolling like Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg an Mycroft have to sit tight for some time, while a thunderstorm hits.

Greg heard the deep rumbling of the quickly approaching thunderstorm. He pulled over and looked at the steel-grey sky and tale-telling clouds.  
He pushed up the visor of his helmet, turning to speak to his pillion. “We won't make it back in time without getting soaking wet. Better look for shelter.”

Mycroft too had pushed up the visor. He pointed to an unpaved track on which end a barn was visible. 

“There are no signs of animals. Maybe we can find shelter there.” 

Another rumbling and a few seconds later the first rain-drops began to fall.

Greg nodded, quickly lowered the visor and kicked the motorcycle into gear. He drove slowly along the track. His Kawasaki was build for the road but not for sandy tracks and he didn't want an accident, especially with Mycroft clinging to his back.

It took them several minutes to reach the barn and to their relieve a large sliding-door was open so they could take the bike inside. The barn was empty, only at the rear bales of straw were stacked. They climbed down from the motorcycle and outside it started to pour down in earnest. 

Greg peered into the rain. It had gotten dark and the sky didn't look like the sun would come out for some time. Leaving their helmets with the bike they began to explore the barn. Some of the bales were stacked high up, but a few offered a comfortable place to sit or lie on. 

For a while they listened to the thunderstorm; the rain-drops pounding onto the barn's roof, the rolling of thunder and the wind rattling on the wooden walls. Greg had shifted from sitting to lying, his head resting on his arms and he began to drift off. Mycroft's finger combed gently through his hair.

“Tell me about your studies.”

“What?” Greg blinked awake again. 

“Your studies. I know you've already picked up books for your police training.”

“Oh that.” Greg propped up his elbows and rested his chin in his hands. “The practical stuff about policing is interesting but the laws are pretty boring to read.”

“Laws aren't written for entertainment,” Mycroft told him.

“I know that but some paragraphs are like a whole page long and when you get to the end of the sentence you have to start over because you can't remember the first part. Why make it so complicated?”

“Because simple doesn't work when it comes to law.” Mycroft, warming to the topic, got into a lengthy explanation about the history of British law for the next twenty minutes. Eventually Greg stopped him.

“How many years did you say you studied? You could teach classes.” 

Mycroft blushed. “I don't think so. But I find it fascinating and when I find something fascinating I enjoy learning all about it.”

Greg got up on his knees and crawled into Mycroft's lap. “Do you find me fascinating?” Greg asked him, looking meaningful at Mycroft.

Pulling him close, Mycroft nipped the shell of one ear playfully. “You are the incarnation of fascination,” he told him. 

“And you studied flattery how many years?” 

Greg was stronger than Mycroft but when the younger man toppled him over all of a sudden he didn't stand a chance. Before Greg could come to terms with his new position, Mycroft dug his fingers into the ribs where he knew Greg would be ticklish. The squeal that escaped his lips was very unmanly but the tickled man didn't care. He desperately tried to escape those capable hands which instinctively knew where and how to tweak for peak efficiency. But all wiggling was pointless. To Greg it felt like Mycroft had four hands instead of two. 

“Please, Myc! Stop! I can take no more,” Greg panted eventually.

“What's in for me, if I do?” Mycroft asked. He had ceased the assault but let his hands linger, in case Greg would try to retaliate. 

“Anything!” Greg swallowed. “You name it.” 

“Do a striptease.”

“What???”

“Strip for me.”

“Here? Now?”

Mycroft shrugged. “I don't see why not.”

“Well, because.”

“That's not a very good explanation.” Mycroft moved like he would start his next attack at any moment.

“Wait, wait, wait. I throw in a lap-dance for you. But not here, okay?”

“Okay.” Mycroft agreed much too fast, and Greg knew that he had been outwitted.

Dusting himself off, Greg got up. “You are devious. I'm glad we're living in the same country. Governments will fall, when it's you conducting negotiations.”

Mycroft looked pleased. “And I won't let foreign governments get off the hook for a striptease.” 

Listing the current world leaders they knew, both Mycroft and Greg shuddered before they dissolved in a giggling fit. 

* * *

In the evening Greg sat together with his grandparents at the dinner table, trying not to wolf down his food, when Martha Lestrade spoke up.

“Gregory, I've got a call from your granduncle Peter. He has a cottage in Penzance. He told me that the cottage was free for two nights, starting tomorrow. Driving there and back within such a short duration would require too much energy for us but maybe you'd like to go with Mycroft.”

Greg almost choked. “You mean Mycroft and I could go and spend three days there? For free?” 

Pierre and Martha Lestrade exchanged amused glances. “That's exactly what it means. The cottage is large enough for a family of four, so there would be room for Mycroft's sibling and his friend as well.”

“Sherlock and John could come along too?”

Martha nodded and grinned when Greg tried to contain his excitement. He knew his grandparents didn't approve of jumping up from dinner table during a meal. It was clear that all he wanted to do was call his friend now.

Pierre rolled his eyes. “Go on, call him!” 

Greg was off like a shot. 

* * *

“Sherlock, what do you associate with Penzance?” Mycroft asked.

“Pirates!” 

John blinked slightly confused by the enthusiasm in his friend's voice.

“How would you like the three of us and Greg making a trip to Penzance tomorrow?”

“Really?” 

“Greg called. An uncle of his owns a cottage and we can stay there for two nights. That is, if you two would like to come.” 

Mycroft was almost made deaf from the shouts of the two younger teenagers before they raced to their room to pack their bags. It was a long drive to Penzance and they would have to leave early the next morning.

He told his grandparents about the impromptu trip to Cornwall and then drove to town to fuel up the car. 

A holiday within a holiday, with his boyfriend and his brother and John. Mycroft was a very happy man.


	9. From Great to Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driving to Cornwell isn't quite as smooth a ride as Mycroft would have liked. But the day still has potential.

They were on the road for maybe twenty minutes tops, it was nine fifteen and Mycroft was already done.

It had been arduous, getting Sherlock and John out of bed. He had finally managed to get them fed and into the car but made the mistake of going back inside one last time, to fetch the snacks his grandmother had made. 

When he came back, John was no-where to be seen and Sherlock said, he didn't know where he went. John came back five minutes later, telling them he had gone to the bathroom. 

While John had been to the toilet, Sherlock had begun rummaging through the boot of the car, looking for a book he wasn't certain he had packed. He had. It took another five minutes until the   
bag was packed again and they were finally ready to go.

To the younger teenager's chagrin, Greg had forgotten to time his clock. Mycroft found his boyfriend still sound asleep in his bed. He couldn't even begin to be mad. Greg had smiled so sweetly when Mycroft had woken him, his heart had been ready to melt.

A very quick shower later, Greg appeared outside. His hair was still dripping wet, he wore his t-shirt inside out, carried his bag in one hand, a cup of tea in the other and had crammed a sandwich between his teeth. Mycroft took the bag, put it inside the boot and they were ready to go.

Not sooner than they passed the first petrol station, Sherlock declared he needed to go to the bathroom NOW. Mycroft had slammed into the breaks, causing Greg to spill tea all over his front. Fortunately the tea had no longer been hot but it had taken Greg a moment to change into another t-shirt. Sherlock said he no longer needed to go – probably a result from the shock of Greg spilling his tea.

Mycroft had dragged his squirming sibling to the toilet anyway but Sherlock had only crossed his arms stubbornly in front of his chest, refusing to use the bathroom.

The brothers had returned to the car with their jaws set. One because he was fed up with all this nonsense, the other because he really needed to go to the bathroom but couldn't let his brother win. Sherlock caved in twenty miles later, begging Mycroft to stop. 

Amazingly, after that stop the rest of the drive went by rather harmoniously. It did help that Sherlock and John had fallen asleep on the back-seat and Greg kept distracting Mycroft by rubbing the soft skin of his neck and playing with his hair. Mycroft needed all his self-control not to close his eyes and lean into the touch.

* * *

To their outmost delight the cottage wasn't located in Penzance but in Sennen Cove at the Atlantic Coast. A small garden surrounded the cottage at the outskirts of the village; it looked like it had escaped from one of Thomas Kinkade's paintings. Greg rang the bell at the neighbour's door and was handed the keys. 

John and Sherlock ran inside the cottage and only seconds later shouts of indignation could be heard. The teenagers stood in front of a queen size bed, looking at it accusingly. 

“This is not acceptable,” Sherlock said. 

John, nodded his agreement. “There is no way I'm going to sleep in one bed with him.” 

Obviously he should have voiced his opinion differently because now Sherlock pouted.

“Why not?”

Before they could get into an argument, Greg stopped them. “There's another bedroom and Mycroft and I are going to sleep here.”

Fortunately Sherlock and John hurried to investigate the other room, so they missed the longing looks Mycroft and Greg exchanged. 

Mycroft checked his watch. “Do you think 3pm is too early to go to bed?”

“No, but I think neither your brother nor John will agree.”

They carried their bags inside and checked on the younger teenagers. The other room held two beds and they were arranged in an L-shape. John and Sherlock were already arguing why Sherlock shouldn't sleep with his feet near John's face (They smell! No, they don't!).

Mycroft broke up the argument by suggesting the boys could go investigate the village and the pirate coves nearby all on their own but they should be back at 6pm and it'd be wonderful if they came back on their own, unharmed and not accompanied by representatives of the local authorities. Later they all would go out for dinner together.

John and Sherlock took their backpacks and left in a hurry before Mycroft could change his mind. 

Greg came up and hugged him from behind. “Shall I make some tea? You drove the whole time and must be exhausted.” He kissed the nape of Mycroft's neck.

Mycroft's hum sounded like he agreed but as he tilted his head, it could also mean he commented on the kissing. 

“Tea or kissing?” 

“Both!”

Greg opted for more kissing first but then they moved to the small kitchen to make tea. 

Half an hour later the theine kicked in and they were ready to check out the beach as well as the village. 

They went to their bedroom and began changing into shorts and t-shirts. 

Wait,” Greg grabbed Mycroft by the hips. “Let's put some sunscreen to your neck before you put on the shirt. 

He took the bottle, poured the lotion into his palm and began spreading it over Mycroft's neck and shoulders.

“I really like your freckles,” Greg told him. He refrained from kissing them though, for suntan lotion was not his favourite taste. His hands begun to glide along the shoulders and around Mycroft's throat. Leaning against Greg's shoulder, Mycroft tilted his head and shivered when inquisitive hands began spreading the lotion unnecessarily over his chest and flat stomach. The rough pad of a thumb kept teasing over one nipple, making him groan and a clever hand dove inside the front his shorts. 

“Greg, I don't think I'm going to expose this very body part to the sun,” Mycroft croaked.

“Do you want me to stop?” Greg purred into his ear.

“Don't you dare!”

* * *

It was half past four before they finally left the cottage and headed down to the beach. A strong breeze came in, carrying the distinct scent of the ocean. They discovered a small restaurant where they would have dinner with John and Sherlock later on and would most likely listen to excited chatter about pirates. 

The sand on the beach was warm under their feet. Watching the waves rolling in, they held each other close, while a great afternoon turned into a perfect evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pondered if Sherlock and John would behave as childish as they do here but then I remembered Scandal in Belgravia. "Are we here to see the Queen?", "Can you two for once behave like grown-ups?" etcetera, etcetera. No, I think they'd be like this at the age of 12 or 13. :-)


	10. On the Topic of Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes' brothers, Greg and John, first join a guided tour about the pirates of Sennen Cove and later go to a beach party.

“There's nothing for John for breakfast!” Sherlock shouted, the moment he had ripped open the door without knocking.  
The teenager was fortunate, that Mycroft would never know how close he had come to being dismembered by the teeth of his seriously startled lover. Usually immune to his his brother's feelings, Mycroft's murderous glance convinced even Sherlock that breakfast could wait another thirty minutes.  
He retreated quickly to the kitchen and told John he better made tea to calm both the outraged Mycroft and Greg. Especially since it was his fault that Sherlock had gotten into that situation in the first place. John had asked for something to eat, Sherlock had merely been the unlucky messenger.

The mood was ruined. Greg couldn't help but giggle and once Mycroft had gotten over the humiliation he had felt when Sherlock caught him in his highly aroused state, he joined in. Sooner or later there would be payback time.

But to his astonishment, his nineteen year old body got interested again, as soon as Greg joined him in the shower.

Forty-five minutes after Sherlock's surprise appearance, the whole set of four went out to get breakfast at a bistro around the corner. Tea and pancakes were served and soon they were chatting about how they'd spend the day. The waitress heard that they were talking about the pirate coves and told them, there was a walking tour which left at noon and took the participants to all locations that were of interest. It was highly doubtable that the tour-guide would know half as much as Sherlock but they all were willing to give it a try.

* * *

They met their guide in front of The Old Success Inn. There were eight other people consisting of two couples and four teenagers, ranging from eleven to sixteen. Two thirteen year old girls were taken by John right from the start. 

The tour began and of course it had to happen. The tour-guide, a 65 year old man called Pete, had just started his explanations about the history of pirates in Sennen Cove when Sherlock contradicted him. Mycroft and Greg exchanged worried glances and John kept tucking at his friend's sleeve anxiously but to their surprise Pete listened avidly to Sherlock's explanations. Once Sherlock had finished his remarks, the man fished a badge from his pocket, that was similar to his own. 

“May I?” he inquired before fastening the badge to Sherlock's shirt. “How about we guide the tour together. I know all the locations and you tell the good people that joined this tour what happened.”

At school Sherlock's spirit of contradiction was usually disheartened so he shot his brother a questioning glance. Mycroft merely shrugged and gave Sherlock an encouraging smile. Straightening his back Sherlock nodded and the tour continued.

The moment Pete had talked to Sherlock Mycroft had deduced the man's behaviour. While Sherlock went through another lengthy explanation about the smuggling of alcohol, he told both John and Greg that Pete had a highly gifted daughter. They were estranged and she had moved to the US but the man had learned his lesson and recognized an intelligent person when he saw one. 

Usually the tour lasted two hours. With Sherlock's lengthy explanations, which were not always fully appreciated, especially by the other teenagers, it lasted three. Mycroft beamed, when a blushing Sherlock received a round of applause at the end. 

Greg wanted to tip Pete generously but Mycroft shook his head. “Don't. He doesn't want money and I think I can do better than that.”  
Pete would never know why but a few month later he received a Christmas Card from his daughter – the first after twelve years of silence.

They went back to their cottage, had tea and cakes they had bought and afterwards they piled into the car and drove to Penzance to explore the small town. John told them he had learned from Sandy, one of the thirteen year old girls, that there would be a beach party in the evening. No invitations were necessary only everyone had to bring some drinks, food and a blanket to sit on. And since non of them had even been to a beach party, they quickly agreed that this was their chance to close this knowledge gap.

* * *

Mycroft was sitting in the semi-darkness on a blanket. The only light came from the flames of a large camp fire. His back rested against a large rock and between his legs sat Greg, who used Mycroft for his backrest. There hands were tenderly entwined and when Mycroft was certain nobody looked their way, he would press his lips to Greg's neck.

Sherlock sat next to them in the sand, pouting. 

“Why don't you go and join him?” Greg asked Sherlock for the umpteenth time but a shake of the head was the only answer he got.

There were about forty to fifty people at the beach. The large camp fire. was burning brightly and somebody had brought a ghetto blaster. After they had eaten, most young people had begun dancing in the sand. With his friendly smile and bright blue eyes, John had caught the eyes of several girls. It didn't matter that he was shorter than most of them, they liked him nonetheless and he had hardly time to catch his breath between songs.  
Sherlock had been asked to dance too but he had turned his nose up every time and eventually the girls left him alone. 

Right now John was dancing with Sandy who had actually wrapped her arms around his neck and kept smiling at him the whole time. The moment the girl had touched John, Greg had all but thrown himself on top of Sherlock who had looked like he had been ready to kill Sandy.

Mycroft tried to keep the pity out of his expression. He felt sorry for his brother, knowing exactly what he went through. Sherlock cared for John but he had yet to learn how to behave without delivering a snub on a regular basis and show him that John meant more to him than an interesting species he enjoyed experiencing on. 

* * *

It was almost midnight when they came back to the cottage. John caught on quickly that Sherlock wasn't in the mood to hear about how much fun he had had, dancing with all the girls. The young teenagers went to their room quietly.

As subdued as the younger boys mood was, Mycroft and Greg couldn't help but feel contend they would spend another night together. They exchanged unhurried kisses and touches, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if there is actually a tour about pirates in Sennen Cove. The location the guided tour start is for real though.


	11. Concerning Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This day is spent mostly outside at the beach and to Greg's delight, Mycroft's freckles are soon in full bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it got a bit late today. Watched the Monty Python Show from the O2 Arena in London tonight on TV.

Rays of the morning sun peeped in through the curtains when Greg woke up. He took in the cool, salty breeze coming from the window that was tilted open, a pleasant contrast to the warm body pressed to his side.  
The sight of his boyfriend's mussed hair and slightly parted lips caused a sensation in Greg, like somebody tugged at a spot located somewhere behind his solar plexus. He let his eyes roam over Mycroft's body.  
The younger man's limbs were long and the pale skin was dusted with barely visible ginger hair and an abundance of freckles. The dappled skin and auburn hair didn't correspond with the current concept of beauty but in Greg's opinion Mycroft was perfectly handsome.

He reached out and ran his fingertips along the jawline, detecting a bit of stubble. He could imagine Mycroft looking very distinguished with a nicely trimmed beard – in twenty years or so. 

Mycroft began to stir, jostling Greg from his thoughts. He watched Mycroft turn onto his back, stretching to his full length and yawn widely. Mycroft blinked lazily but when he caught Greg watching him, he smiled. 

"Good morning, beautiful!"

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow and pulled Greg in for a kiss. Studying the honest, chocolate-brown eyes he shook his head.

“You really mean that, don't you?” His voice sounded sceptical.

Greg gently ran a finger along one of Mycroft's eyebrows. “Of course, I do.” Knowing that Mycroft in return considered him handsome, he added “Your hair and skin really complements me.”

To Greg's surprise, Mycroft barked with laughter. “You're a vain peacock!”

Greg stuck out his tongue.

They fooled around, laughed, cuddled and kissed for a while before Mycroft turned serious. Pulling Greg's head to his shoulder he closed his eyes playing with his hair. 

“I'd like you to talk to Sherlock.”

Greg didn't ask why, he understood right away. Sherlock was in need of a bit of advice but if the advice came from his brother, he would most likely reject it before even thinking about it. 

“And you'll talk to John, try to make him understand what's going on under all those Holmesian curls?”

Mycroft nodded. “John is good for Sherlock. I doubt my brother will ever find a more loyal friend but he can't keep treating him like he does. I think John has a lot of tolerance for Sherlock's joy of experimenting but there's a limit to everything. That fit of jealousy last night clearly confused John to no end. I would hate to see them break up.”

“So would I.” Greg got up.

“It's still early. You don't have to talk to him now,” Mycroft said, when Greg slipped from their room.

Greg was back half a minute later. “Just wanted to check if there was a chance for us being undisturbed for some time.” 

“Your actions indicate we are,” Mycroft said, watching bright-eyed when Greg took off his pyjama bottoms before climbing back into bed with a highly suggestive smile on his face.

* * *

Both John and Sherlock were still very quiet when they all set out for breakfast. Greg and Mycroft exchanged glances before they separated the younger boys on their way to the bistro. 

Contrary to their expectations, both teenagers were eager to talk. Not that they did much talking themselves but even Sherlock was ready to listen to any explanation that was offered on John's odd behaviour. 

When they sat down for breakfast eventually, neither Greg nor Mycroft had much hopes that things would be back to normal but a cup of tea and a stack of pancakes later, Sherlock and John had already joined forces again to argue that there was no need to leave Cornwall before the evening, even though they had to leave the cottage at lunch-time and a long drive ahead of them.

Since the weather was perfect, both Greg and Mycroft were easily convinced. They hurried to the cottage, packed their bags and loaded everything into the car before they went back to the beach.

Even Mycroft could be convinced to stay in the sun instead of hiding in the shade. They walked along the beach on bare feet, collecting shells, interesting looking pebbles and all sorts of things Sherlock wanted to study under his microscope, once they got home. 

Greg and John built a sand castle and both Mycroft and Sherlock told them how flawed their construction was, should it come to battle. The architects weren't exactly receptive to being criticized. Each brother got a handful of sand stuffed inside his pants for his trouble. 

It was four in the afternoon, when they sat down outside a pub for some food. John rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a small camera. First he took a couple of pictures of Greg and Mycroft. Mycroft, Greg decided, looked perfect with his freckles in full bloom. They smiled happily in the camera, hoping they wouldn't look like idiots on the photo. Mycroft then took two pictures of Sherlock and John. Both teenagers were actually smiling for Greg was goofing around behind Mycroft, to tease a smile out of Sherlock. At last the bartender of the pub took another couple of pictures from the four of them. Mycroft already knew that a copy of this photo would be his priceless possession.

* * *

Greg was dropped off shortly before midnight. With Sherlock and John sleeping in the back seat, Mycroft helped him carrying his bag inside. They held each other close for several minutes, reluctant to let go.

“I'll miss you tonight,” Mycroft told Greg. His nose was pressed to his boyfriend's neck, inhaling his enticing scent, while Greg threaded his fingers though his hair. 

For an answer Greg pushed him against the wall and kissed him thoroughly. “Think we have time for some quality time?”

Outside the car's horn began to blare. Mycroft pelted down the stairs but Greg's grandparents were awake and shouting abuse out their window before he reached the car. 

He found Sherlock and John sitting with their arms crossed in front of their chest in the back seat both insisting that some stranger had appeared and honked. But since Mycroft was back he might as well drive them home now. 

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. What a joy his brother and John were of one mind again.


	12. I can't Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't want John to dance with anybody but him. Unfortunately, Sherlock has to learn how to dance first.

Greg arrived at the house of Mycroft's grandparents in the afternoon. He switched off the engine and put his Kawasaki on its centre stand before he took off his helmet and ruffled his hair into artful chaos. 

Before he could ring the bell the door was opened by an elderly woman, probably Mycroft's grandmother. Her bright blue eyes studied him and her face broke into a smile.

“You must be the amazing Greg,” she said.

Greg's eyebrows shot up. “I don't know about amazing but my name is Greg Lestrade,” he offered his hand out. 

“Isabelle Holmes!” She took the hand and shook it with strength that belied her age. “You put up with both my grandsons, therefore you are amazing,” she said. 

Greg's face turned a shade of pink and he shrugged.

“Mycroft isn't here,” the woman told him. “He had to take John to the dentist. He lost a filling from one molar this morning and got an appointment right away.”

Greg was about to leave when she added. “If you'd like to wait, Sherlock is upstairs.”

“Sherlock didn't accompany John?”

“We were surprised too but Sherlock said there was an important project that needed his attention.”

It was probably the dissection of a frog, Greg thought, when he climbed the stairs to the attic, where Sherlock had made camp. Greg didn't know what it was that made him opening the door to the attic carefully and peep inside without drawing attention to himself. To his surprise he found the boy doing some moves in front of a full length mirror. 

He was wiggling his body, waving his hands around and kicked with his feet. It looked like he was dancing but there was no music. No, Greg corrected himself. There was music for Sherlock held a walkman in one hand and wore headphones. Before he could stop himself he opened the door wide stepped inside. Sherlock saw him before he had a chance to speak. The teenager's eyes widened and for a split second he froze. But then he transformed the dance step he had begun into a move that could have convinced Greg he was going somewhere, if he hadn't been watching. 

“Hey Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“It looked like you were dancing.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Come on, buddy, you're still wearing the headphone, I can hear music and the way you moved looked like you were dancing.”

“It did?” Sherlock bit his lips. “Well, I did not dance.”

“Look, Sherlock. There is no need to be embarrassed,” Greg told him. “It looked okay. You seem to have a natural feeling for rhythm.”

Sherlock still looked guarded but then he made up his mind. “I don't want John to dance with any of those girls again but I don't how to dance myself. I tried to copy his moves but it looks funny when I do it.”

Greg considered Sherlock's words carefully. “Do you want to show me?”

“Only when you promise not to laugh.” Sherlock looked at his brother's boyfriend earnestly.

“I promise,” Greg answered, nodding.

Sherlock took a deep breath. 

Before he could get started, Greg stopped him. Wait, Sherlock. Do you have a player up here so I can hear the music too?”

The teenager nodded. He took the cassette from the walkman and pulled a tape recorder from a shelf. He studied the cassette for a moment before he put it into the recorder, pressed rewind for several seconds and started the music. 

Greg's face broke into a smile when he recognized the song “What a Feeling” from the movie Flashdance. Both Sherlock and the leading actress from that movie shared the elegant limbs and the mop of curls. 

The teenager began to move and Greg had to bite his lip no to laugh out loud for Sherlock gave a perfect impersonation of John dancing. 

“Stop,” he shouted, laughing after all. “Stop, Sherlock. I can see that John's dancing style isn't for you.” 

Sherlock had narrowed his eyes, trying to decide whether Greg was making fun of him or not. 

“You do it!” 

Greg looked surprised. “Me?”

“Yes, I want to see how you dance,” Sherlock demanded.

“Guess that's only fair,” Greg said. “But not that song.” He took the cover of the cassette and tried to read Sherlock's scribble. 

“Is that supposed to read Footloose?” he asked, pointing at the cover.

“Of course,” Sherlock sounded slightly insulted. 

“Would you do the honours?” Greg pointed at the recorder. Sherlock took out the cassette, turned it over and after some rewinding started the music. 

The first few seconds Greg felt weird dancing for Sherlock but then he closed his eyes and allowed himself to loose himself in the music. For about two minutes he jumped around, rolled his shoulders, waved his hands around, wiggled his bottom, shuffled his feet and did whatever else he did when he danced. When he opened his eyes and glanced at Sherlock, the teenager looked like he feared whatever it was that possessed Greg, he hoped he wouldn't catch it.

Greg stopped and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, Sherlock, you are not supposed to dance like John and neither like me.”

“But...”

“No but! You have to find your own style. It is like walking. Neither one of us looks the same when we are walking. It's a question of height and the length of the legs but also how you position your feet when you make a step. It's the same with dancing. You will be good at it because I think you have a good body consciousness. It's the same with Mycroft. When he moves he always looks elegant.”

Sherlock huffed. “My brother is everything but elegant.”

Stabbing his index finger to the teenager's chest Greg shifted his shoulders ever so slightly but it gave him a more menacing appearance right away. “Careful, I happen to like your brother. You want my help you don't insult him.”

“Never said I wanted your help.” Sherlock grumbled. 

Taking a deep breath, Greg looked at the titles Sherlock had on cassette. “Okay, which one do you really like? I mean, really really like a lot.”

Sherlock shuffled his feet and looked down. 

“Come on, there's no such thing as having an embarrassing favourite song,” Greg encouraged.

“Youtheonethatiwt.” 

“What?”

“You're the one that I want,” Sherlock said. “From 'Grease'. I know the film is old but...”

“The film is not old,” Greg protested. “If that film was old I would be ancient. Do you have it? I mean the soundtrack?”

Sherlock gave him his best 'don't-be-daft'-look and showed him the original cassette.

“You could use some of my hair gel to get your hair into John Travolta's hairstyle.” 

Sherlock shot him a look he better didn't dare to even touch his hair, before he pressed the Play-button.

“Try close you eyes when you dance. It'll feel a lot more natural and works much better than in front of a mirror.”

The music began and they both started dancing. Sherlock was slightly alarmed when he heard Greg singing along but with a flick of his finger he turned up the volume.

* * *

Mycroft's grandparents were sitting outside when their oldest grandson came back with John.

“What on earth...?” Mycroft and John exchanged looks when they heard music blaring from a window in the attic of the house.

“Greg came to visit. I sent him up to Sherlock who was doing something in the attic. Shortly afterwards that noise started,” Mycroft's grandmother explained. 

John, with Mycroft in hot pursuit, dashed up the stairs. They opened the door to the attic and froze. Greg and Sherlock were dancing to the music with their eyes closed, singing, “You're the one that I want, ooh ooh ohh, honey, the one that I want” at the top of their lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the younger readers who didn't live in the 60s, 70s or 80s - therer were tape recorders with cassetts one had to rewind. They had an A-side and a B-side, and instead of CD-players, iPhones etc there was the walkman. Those were the days! :-D


	13. The Merit of Old Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft was supposed to pick up Greg. When he doesn't, Greg gets worried. It soon turns out that John and Sherlock have something to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this chapter still qualifies as M or should be rated as an E. So, just in case: 
> 
> Warning!!! 
> 
> E 
> 
> for being a bit more explicit regarding sexual content of this chapter!

Greg was worried when he climbed on his motorcycle and set out for the house of Mycroft's grandparents. His boyfriend had told him he'd pick him up at ten. Now it was half past eleven and he was nowhere to be seen. They didn't know each other that long but Greg couldn't even begin to imagine Mycroft wouldn't call if something came up or stay away for no good reason. 

The phone at the house hadn't been answered but he decided to drive over to check if something was wrong. He didn't imagine he'd find the whole family being murdered or taken hostage by some madman but he was worried. 

After parking his Kawasaki, Greg walked around the house. Okay, the grandparents' car was missing but Mycroft's was there. That was good, wasn't it? He rang the bell. No answer. Two more times, pressing the button urgently - still no answer. Run around the house, peep inside windows – nobody there. 

Greg scratched his neck and decided to check the garden. Well, garden really was an understatement. There was a garden with flowerbeds and a few rows where vegetables grew but beyond that garden began an orchard. Apple and pear trees first, cherry and plum trees further down. He was between the last apple tree and the first cherry tree, when he spotted Sherlock and John. They sat in the shade of a cherry tree, eating sandwiches. 

When they saw him, their eyes went wide and they exchanged glances. Guilt was written all over their faces. A good time to practise what he had read about a successful interogation. 

“Hi guys. Mycroft wanted to pick me up about two hours ago but never did. You don't happen to know where he is, do you?”

The boys stood up and glanced at a shed that stood behind the cherry trees before exchanging looks again.

“In there,” John said and pointed to the shed. And on cue they ran towards the house.

That had been easy, Greg decided, before he ran towards the shed, a bad feeling making in his guts churn. He had no idea what to expect but certainly not Mycroft being tied to a pole in the middle of the shed. His wrists were tied and it looked like Mycroft hugged the pole. Considering the slight bruises at both wrists he had already tried removing the rope. 

“What the...?”

“Greg, oh thank God, you are here!”

“What happened?” Greg went to check on the rope around Mycroft's wrists. A small but very effective knot, most certainly Sherlock's handy work, held them in place. 

“Sherlock and John have discovered an old book my grandfather used to read. A book about the so called Wild West with plenty of Native Americans who apparently tied there victims to a pole every other page and tortured them to death. Fortunately they were satisfied with tying me up. Two hours ago!”

“Why didn't they let you go?”

“It could have something to do with me telling them I would kick their sorry little arses straight into next week,” Mycroft admitted.

Greg blinked in surprise. “I didn't know you used such language.”

“Well, I do,” Mycroft told him. “Would you now please undo that rope?”

Greg stood back and looked at Mycroft. “Actually, no!”

“What???”

“Just because John and Sherlock aren't into torture, doesn't mean I'm not.” He gave Mycroft a slap to his bottom that made him yelp with surprise.

“Greg...”

“Shhh, love, you're going to like it.” Greg placed a quick kiss on Mycroft's lips before he wrapped is arms around him from behind and began unbuttoning his shirt. 

Uncertain what to expect, Mycroft's eyes were impossible wide while he watched Greg's hands. There wasn't much room between the pole and his chest but the small space was enough for Greg's hands to get in between. Mycroft knew Greg would never hurt him but there had been something in those brown eyes that made him almost shiver. 

He couldn't take off Mycroft's shirt but once it was unbuttoned, Greg slipped his hands inside.  
Mycroft moaned when Greg began to caress his chest, scratching and pinching his nipples and teasing the soft skin just below his belly button. He hadn't known his skin was this sensitive. He began to squirm but that was about all he could do. With his arms tied he had no means to escape. Not that he really wanted to. 

One arm wrapped around his boyfriend from behind, Greg plucked at the collar of Mycroft's shirt with his free hand. When the neck was exposed, he began to kiss the skin where the neck met the shoulder, eliciting a whining sound. He let his hands wander further down Mycroft's body, making short work of trousers and pants before palming him. 

Mycroft was just convinced that this so called torture wasn't so bad when the teasing hands were removed.

“No need to stop,” he panted, looking over his shoulder at Greg. 

“I don't think you should have all the fun,” Greg said. He walked around the post so Mycroft could see him properly. “Since you aren't not going to do anything about this”, Greg indicated the rather strained front of his own trousers, “I guess I have to do it myself.”

Eyes wide, Mycroft watched Greg taking off his t-shirt, trousers and pulling down his pants before he ran one hand over his own chest and cradled his arousal with the other. Yes, Mycroft decided, it was indeed torture, watching his boyfriend lean against the wall, touching himself uninhibitedly and not being able to touch either Greg's lovely skin nor himself. Mycroft grew more desperate by the minute when Greg began to make small sounds like he encouraged himself. For a split second he considered humping against the pole but that would most likely end in pain instead of pleasure. 

Greg opened his eyes, planning to give Mycroft a teasing look but almost lost it there. The younger man's face displayed pure longing. Pupils blown so wide there was hardly any blue left, the bottom lip swollen from biting down on it, cheeks flushed and the tip of his tongue kept poking out to wet his lips; Greg knew he'd be able to come from just watching this sensuous individual. Still, this was supposed to be for Mycroft even more than for himself. 

He walked over to stand behind Mycroft and wrapped his hand around him again. He took his time touching and teasing him into a moaning wreck but when Mycroft kept begging for release Greg couldn't resist him any longer. Brushing a sweat stained strand of auburn hair off Mycroft's forehead, he tipped his lover's head against his shoulder, sucked the nape of the neck and pressed his erection to the round bottom. 

“You're absolutely delicious,” Greg whispered, before he quickly sucked Mycroft's earlobe. “I want you so very much.” Knowing that the younger man would have a very good idea what Greg wanted, he snapped his hips to hump once, twice against the cheeks.

Mycroft groaned but before he could voice any of his own desires, Greg wrapped a hand around him and made him come violently over his hand with a few, well practised strokes. Rubbing himself against the trembling flesh, Greg followed him over the edge a few seconds later.

* * * 

Sherlock and John were sitting on the steps in front of the house, watching Greg and Mycroft walking towards them. John was nervous, although Sherlock had told him that it was a good sign, his brother and Greg hadn't come out of the shed for the better part of an hour. 

“You're never ever tying me up again!” Mycroft thundered, when they reached the teenagers. They ducked their heads but before either one could utter a huff or an apology he added, “Any body care for ice cream?”


	14. Say It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft, Sherlock an John pick up photos John took. Later Mycroft meets his boyfriend again for a trip to the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!!! This turned out much sweeter than I've intended and there is a fair chance of catching a massive sugar shock.

“What are you humming?” John Watson asked from the back seat.

Mycroft, haven't been aware that he had been humming, stopped abruptly. “Uh, nothing. Just some melody that came to my mind.” Clearing his throat he added, “I don't even know the title.”

Sherlock looked at him. “Oh, you don't know the title? It's Earth Angel.” He grinned when he saw his brother blush furiously. 

“How do you know that song?” John asked Sherlock.

“Don't be daft, John. We heard it just recently. It's that looove song from Back to the Future.”

“Oh, right I remember. That's where they kissed.” He nodded enthusiastically, unaware that Mycroft was very quiet and tried to be invisible. 

“Earth Angel, Earth Angel, will you be mine? My darling, dear, I love you all the time,” Sherlock sang in Mycroft's direction.”

John giggled.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” Mycroft's voice sounded a bit strained. “How good of you to pay enough attention to the film to know the lyrics of one of the songs.”

Sherlock's smile turned malicious before he burst into another song so suddenly Mycroft almost steered the car into the next tree. “The Power of love, is a curious thing, make a one man weep, make another man sing.”

Both Sherlock and John dissolved into a giggling fit, while Mycroft, his face beet root red, gritted his teeth. Still, he couldn't help that less than a minute later, a smile was plastered on his face. 

They were on their way back from town, where they had picked up some books from the book store. But, most importantly, they had been to the photo store next door to pick up the photos John had taken during their trip to Cornwall. 

In Mycroft's opinion the trip to the photo store had been quite an ordeal. They were John's photos, therefore he had to wait while John (and Sherlock) slowly leafed through the small stack of twenty-four pictures. He knew the photos he was interested in, were the very last in the stack. His patience had been really tried because each and every one of the photos was studied carefully and commented on. Among others, there was a photo of a variety of pieces of broken glass, one photo of two left feet (presumable of John and Sherlock's) and one of his car, Sherlock's long legs sticking out from underneath, revealing the teenager was probably doing something to the engine. What was Sherlock doing under his car???

Mycroft had run out of patience ages ago before the first picture from Cornwall made it to the top of the stack. He must have made a noise because John suddenly looked at him, said “Oh!” and shuffled through the photos until he found the two pictures of Mycroft and Greg. He handed them over to Mycroft without a second glance before turning his attention back to the other twenty-two shots.

Mycroft blinked owlishly at the photos like he couldn't believe his eyes. If he had had any doubts about his own feelings, or Greg's, they flew straight out of the window. 

The first picture showed both Greg and Mycroft smiling brightly at the camera. Greg was brown as a nut, his hair the usual artful mess. Mycroft for once actually liked how he looked himself in the picture. All those freckles were horrid, he sported a light sun burn on the bridge of his nose and his hair was a ghastly shade of ginger but the smile on his face was just as bright as Greg's. 

They looked good together, complementing each other; Greg with dark hair, brown skin and those chocolate eyes, Mycroft with ginger hair, fair (well, freckled) skin and bright blue eyes.

The second photo though was something else. John had taken the snapshot while Greg and Mycroft had looked at each other with something Mycroft interpreted reluctantly as 'infatuated'. Sherlock, who had watched his brother, took the picture from him. 

“You're totally besotted,” he said with a huff, before he handed it back. He had sounded almost gruff but the smile in Sherlock's eyes betrayed how happy he was for his sibling. Sherlock turned briskly before he could be seen.

Mycroft looked at his brother, catching only a glimpse of the smile. Sherlock, usually oblivious of other people's feelings, had nailed it. 

“I presume you want copies for Greg?” John asked. Mycroft did. 

John showed him the other photos and Mycroft also wanted copies for Greg and himself of one of the photos that showed the four of them. A picture, Mycroft decided, he would frame and put on display in his flat at Uni.

* * *

In the evening, Mycroft went to pick up Greg. They hadn't been to their lake in a few days and Greg had suggested swimming in the moonlight again. His voice over the phone had suggested other activities and Mycroft had agreed enthusiastically.

It was almost routine now. Park the car, carry the bags and a blanket to their favourite spot, change into swimming trunks, hop into the water. But this evening there was a slight change in this routine. 

“Leave them,” Greg told Mycroft when he was about to put on his trunks.

“I beg your pardon?”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Come on, Myc. Let's try skinny-dipping.” When Mycroft blinked, he added. “Swimming naked?”

Mycroft looked haggard. “Why would I want to do that?” He indicated the other bathers.

“Come on, it's fun. Nobody is watching.” Leaning closer, he added, “And it saves time the usual unwrapping takes.” He gave Mycroft's bottom an affectionate squeeze. 

Mycroft shook his head. Besides the fact that Greg needed all but 3.5 seconds to take off his trunks, he didn't want to swim naked. Even though it was already quite dark. 

“Or do you expect a fish mistaking your private parts for bait?” Greg grinned.

That thought too had occurred to Mycroft. All cajoling Greg tried was to no avail. To proof his point Greg swum in his birth suit, and Mycroft enjoyed watching the almost white skin of his boyfriend's bottom shine in the dark water. Like the last time they fooled around in the water, laughed and swam before coming back to their blanket. Wrapped into their towels, they huddled together, laid down on the blanket and entwined their legs. Mycroft put his head on Greg's chest, right above his heart. Listening to the steady thump-thump, he soon began to feel sleepy. 

Greg's lips brushed his forehead and suddenly Mycroft needed to do something, anything really, about the feelings he had developed over the course of only two weeks. Maybe Greg would laugh at him but Mycroft felt he had to vocalize how he felt. 

“I love you!”

Greg stiffened slightly.

“Myc?”

He swallowed. “I... I know. This is a bit sudden but”, he raised on his elbows to look into Greg's face, “I love you. I really do.”

Greg bit his bottom lip. Yes, it was sudden but he knew it was true and not only for Mycroft. The feeling wasn't single-sided. If anything, it had been love at first sight for both of them. 

He took hold of Mycroft, rolled him to his back and kissed him, hard. 

“I love you too.”

They looked at each other, grinning like fools.

“You do?”

“Yeah!” 

Being in desperate need for an outlet for their emotions, they started laughing until they shook with laughter. 

Mycroft found it was difficult to speak but he needed to ask Greg again. “You love me? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you!” 

Greg was pulled into an open mouthed kiss that left him breathless.

“Now you. Tell me again,” Greg panted.

“I love you.” 

They laughed, they kissed and they said over and over again that they loved each other. All the other bathers had already left when they still held each other close, secretly wondering if, as young as they were and as fresh as this love felt, this would be the forever kind of love everybody dreamt about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe the first two weeks are already done. Thank you all for reading, giving kudos and reviewing. I have a wonderful time writing it and your feedback is really the chicken-soup for my writer's soul.
> 
> Since the story takes place in 1985, it is really a trip down memory lane. A time when there was no digital photography, one had to wait for photos to get developed. Anybody else remembering the anxiety if the photo turned out well, if you looked stupid etc? :-D


	15. Gregory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a neighbour needs help with bringing in the hay, Greg, Mycroft John and Sherlock are there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Sabine, for the idea of bringing in the hay. Unfortunately, it doesn't make sense to let the guys work without their shirts.

The call came when Greg was just eating a very late breakfast. His grandparents' neighbour, Bill Windsor (no, not the one with the big castle, as he kept telling people) had planned to bring in the hay today because the weather forecast promised rain for the next. Unfortunately, Albert, the only worker his neighbour employed, had fallen down the tractor and broken his wrist just this morning. Two others had bowed out as well and without them, there was no way Bill could accomplish the task of bringing in the hay. He had called hoping Greg would be willing to help. Greg said he would and even volunteered three unsuspecting friends who would love nothing better than spend a day wrestling bales of hay.

Bill was delighted and Greg called Mycroft, inviting him, Sherlock and John to lend the neighbour a hand for an hour or so. There would be a barbecue for a reward and they even could spend the night sleeping in the hay.

His offer had elicited delighted whoops from all three. 

Half an hour later they arrived and Greg marshalled them into the task that lay ahead.

A large bale conveyor stood in front of the stable. One team needed to load the bales onto the conveyor while the other team picked the bales up as soon as they arrived in the stable's upper floor and stack them. Both John and Sherlock agreed that Greg and Mycroft couldn't be left alone in the stable, for they would only snog the life out of each other and wouldn't get any work done. Eventually it was agreed that Greg and John would work on the upper floor, since Greg was the only one who had any experience stacking bales.

When Bill arrived with the fully loaded farming trailer, three pairs of eyes were directed accusingly toward Greg. No experience was required to understand that moving all the hay from the trailer to the stable wouldtake much longer than an hour.

It was late afternoon, sweat was streaming down Mycroft's back and his shoulders arched, when the last bale was finally loaded onto the conveyor. Neither Holmes possessed a body that was suited for let alone used to physical work. Mycroft waddled with as much dignity as he could muster to a bench and flopped down. Sherlock's inhibition threshold was much lower and he allowed himself to plump down where he stood.Supporting each other, John and Greg came down from the upper floor a quarter of an hour later for they had to stack the last bales. 

Bill came over and gave Greg a pat on the back that made the young man groan. 

“Hey, Gregory, you and your friend's did really great today.” Turning to the others Bill added, “I'll ask Tilly to make you all a lovely barbecue. You really deserve it. There is a shower on the ground floor of the stable. I suggest you all take a long one and as hot as you can bear. Afterwards put that”, he pressed a small container in Greg's hand, “onto your backs and you will be fine tomorrow.”

“Horse Balm,” Sherlock read aloud. “Just because I worked like one doesn't mean I am a horse.”

“You certainly smell like one,” Greg told him, earning himself a murderous glance from Sherlock.

“This is good stuff, Sherlock,” John told his friend. He pulled on Sherlock's hand to get him up on his feet. “Let's go first.” The teenagers walked stiffly to the stable, dragging their backpacks with fresh clothing along like they weighted a ton.

Mycroft somehow made it over to Greg who had collapsed in the grass, lying down gingerly beside him. For several minutes neither one of them spoke. Eventually Mycroft turned his head to look at his boyfriend.

“I don't think there's a bone left in my body that doesn't hurt, Gregory.” 

“Gregory? Why are you calling me Gregory all of a sudden? Only the old folks like my grandparents, Bill and Tilly call me that.”

“It sounds much nicer than Greg,” Mycroft told him. 

Greg huffed. “Right. Makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old.”

“Your muscles make you feel like you are a hundred years old,” Mycroft argued. “And imagine,” he purred, “how Gregory sounds when I say it right before I come all over you?” He looked at Greg suggestively, who promptly struggled to his feet.

“Let's go before Sherlock and John use up all the hot water.”

Mycroft laughed but he followed his boyfriend like a fish on a string.

* * *

They found Sherlock wearing only a towel, stretched out on a wooden bench with John, who wore a pair of bright red pants, sitting on Sherlock's bottom. Sherlock's eyes were rolled back while John's strong hands were digging with gusto into the skinny teenager's back muscles. The scent of the horse balm was strong and neither Greg nor Mycroft would have been surprised if Sherlock's tongue would have lolled out of his half open mouth. 

They were absolutely not looking at John or Sherlock when Mycroft asked if they could use the shower now. The answer, a mixture of “yeah, go ahead” and “you need to have your eyes checked”, came immediately. 

Greg and Mycroft went to the adjacent room, stripped and got under the shower together. They were almost surprised that there was still an abundance of hot water left. Scrubbing away on each other's skin, they soon felt their muscles relax. Pity John and Sherlock were still within earshot so they only exchanged some wet kisses before they got out to dry themselves. They too rubbed the horse balm into each other's shoulders and backs, enjoying the immediate cooling effect. 

* * *

It was only 9 pm when they all decided to go to bed. Tilly had served a fantastic barbecue. She was certain neither her salads nor her bread had ever been eaten with so much appreciation. Not to mention the rather large amount of steaks and sausages that had been grilled. Even Sherlock, who usually only picked at his food or stole bits and pieces from John, had devoured as much as everybody else.  
A bowl with fresh strawberries had been their dessert. The younger teenagers had kept rolling their eyes while Greg and Mycroft had exchanged meaningful glances, remembering the day they had first met and fed each other strawberries.

Eventually they dragged their tired bodies up the stairs and into the back room of the barn's upper floor. In the middle of the room ran a gangway and on both sides loose hay was stacked to ensure comfortable bedding. Some stacked bales stood in for makeshift walls. The places to sleep in were slightly transposed so they could hear but not see each other. 

Grabbing a pillow and a couple of blankets each, Mycroft and Greg chose the right, Sherlock and John the left side. Each one had a torch in case they needed to use the bathroom downstairs during the night.

It took them a while to get settled and decide on their sleeping arrangements. It was easy for Mycroft and Greg because there was no doubt they would sleep close to each other. They stripped down to their boxers and t-shirts, snuggled between their blankets and entangled their limbs.

John and Sherlock slept in their joggers. They laid down side by side, facing each other to talk softly without being overheard by the others. However, they fell asleep almost as soon as their heads touched the pillow.

Mycroft was just as tired but he couldn't bear the idea of sleeping when he could hold his beloved Greg, no, Gregory, in his arms. They traded kissed and whispered sweet nonsense but didn't dare doing more than this for they didn't want to be overheard by the younger teenagers. And falling asleep in each others arms with the knowledge they would wake up like this, was the best that could happen anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Germany (as well as Austria and Switzerland) there are actually 'hay hotels'. If you tell Mr. Google to search for 'hay hotel Germany' you might find a nice little story that was published in The Observer in 2009.


	16. Rainy Day - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's in the early morning hours when Mycroft wakes up in the arms of Gregory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot: Warning!!!
> 
> This chapter has Rating
> 
> E 
> 
> again!

Fingers were roaming over Mycroft's skin, finding every sensitive spot, making his body tingle with pleasure. They were joined by a wicked mouth before they started their journey at his midriff, working their way up to the nape of his neck. Breath was ghosting over the face before a particular sensitive spot just below his ear was kissed and gently sucked. 

He mourned the loss of touch but immediately those clever fingers were back to remove his pants. His ankles were touched, lips and fingers ghosted up the insides of his legs. It tickled when his calves were caressed and he moaned softly when the skin at the insides of his knees received particular attention. Gentle but insisting hands pushed his legs apart before the tickling sensation was back, travelling from his knees all the way up to where his legs joined his body. 

When a wet, hot mouth closed around his erection, he couldn't hold still any longer. Mycroft was certain, this dream was the most pleasurable he had ever had. But how could he know he dreamt when he was asleep? Mycroft felt his mind awakening but the onslaught of pleasure went on. 

“Gregory?”

The tongue that had teased his length was removed. “Did you expect anybody else?” Greg whispered in his ear, before he leaned back down and sucked him into his mouth again. 

The moans became louder and Greg stopped once more. “Try to stay quiet. Unless you want your brother and John to hear you.” A pillow was pressed into his hands.

“Oh god,” Mycroft had no idea how he was supposed to stay quiet when Gregory's lips and tongue were back, working over and over around the super sensitive head of his cock. Quickly it became too much and he could hold back no longer. 

“Fuck, I...” In the last possible moment a pressed the pillow over his mouth, barely managing to turn the shout into groaning “Gregory!”, before he came violently and collapsed into a wrecked heap of flesh and bone.

Strong arms pulled Mycroft into an embrace. “You were right. Gregory sounds very nice when you pronounce it like you just did,” Greg told him.

Mycroft kept panting for almost a minute before he felt secure enough to talk without sounding like he had just finished running a marathon. He let his head fall against Greg's shoulder.

“You spoil me, Gregory. How am I supposed to continue my life in two weeks, when we won't see each other for weeks, maybe even months?” Mycroft murmured into his lover's ear. 

Greg bit his lips. That was something he really didn't want to think about right now. It had taken all but two weeks and he was addicted to Mycroft; to his body, his voice and his presence. He swallowed, considering an even more grave topic. According to law he was a criminal. The age of consent was twenty-one. Mycroft being nineteen, their interaction was considered a sexual offence. If they got caught, his dream of becoming a police officer would come to an end. But how could he stop loving him?

Mycroft felt Greg's body stiffen. He shifted until they were face-to-face.

“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered, caressing Greg's hair. 

“I don't want to talk about it,” Greg replied, biting his lip. “Shit, I don't even want to think about it.”  
They brought their foreheads together. “I don't want to lose you, Gregory, but your dream of becoming a police officer is important. It's as important to me as it is to you.”

“Not now, Myc. Please, not now.” 

Mycroft kissed Greg, sensing he was close to crying. He shushed him and pulled him close.

They clung to each other until Greg fell asleep. In the dark, Mycroft slipped out of the embrace and tucked the blanket around the sleeping man. He went searching for his boxers, pulled them on and went downstairs to relieve himself. Before he could climb back upstairs he saw a shadow descending the steps.

“I heard you,” Sherlock said softly. His voice was neutral.

Mycroft swallowed. “What did you hear?”

“That you are afraid.”

There was no need for Sherlock to elaborate and Mycroft knew that Sherlock was able to see the whole extend of the problem. Any other teenager and many adults wouldn't understand but his brother did. 

Mycroft sank down to sit on a wooden box. He felt Sherlock joining him, not quite touching him but close enough for Mycroft to feel the warmth he radiated. They didn't talk. Still, Mycroft was grateful for his brother's calm presence. It was all the comfort he required. 

“Let's get back to bed,” Mycroft said after a few minutes, when he began feeling cold. 

Sherlock nodded in the dark. They climbed back upstairs and tiptoed along the gangway. Before they parted, Mycroft felt a small touch against his shoulder. He didn't return the gesture, knowing it wouldn't be welcome. 

“Good night, Sherlock,” he said though. Sherlock didn't reply. He crept back between the blankets and shifted until his back was pressed against John's. 

Mycroft shivered slightly when he crawled between the blankets. He curled around Greg's warm body and buried his nose into his lover's short hair. Greg sighed softly through his nose but didn't wake up. 

Allowing the soothing presence of their friend's calm them, both Holmes' brothers fell asleep within minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the first part of Rainy Day. The second part follows tomorrow.


	17. Rainy Day - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending the night sleeping in the barn, the day starts with rain. But with aching all over from yesterday's hard work, a day spend inside maybe isn't so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to Sunyiu2, Jalizar, rachelbermel and True_Toaster for your comments. Those are really very much appreciated and I feel they help ward off writer's block.

Raindrops tapping on the roof was the first sound Mycroft heard, when he woke up. Rolling over he discovered, that he was alone. Gregory's side of their bedding in the hay was abandoned, his blanket already neatly folded, the pillow lying on top.  
Brushing an insolent lock of hair from his forehead, Mycroft sat up, stretched languidly and rubbed his eyes. Sounds from the metallic staircase told him, that Gregory came back. 

“Good morning,” Greg took off the backpack he was carrying and shrugged out of this wet jacket.  
“Weather is as bad as it looks.” He waved his hand towards a small window, through which grey morning light flooded in. 

Mycroft scrutinized the backpack. “Did you bring tea?”

Greg leaned over him to kiss him before he nodded. “Tea, milk, bread, butter, jam and honey and some boiled eggs, for the four of us.”

“Sounds terrific.”

“You know what sounds even more terrific? Sherlock and John are still asleep.” Greg wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully. He had checked on the younger boys before he had left to fetch breakfast for all of them. They both were hidden under a pile of blankets, only a tuft of blond hair and a mop of dark curls were visible and considering the non-existing distance in between, they probably slept with Sherlock's nose buried in John's hair. That certainly was a position the boys didn't want to be seen in.

“Shower?”

“Shower!”

They hurried down the stairs and pulled off their clothes. Although Greg had been fully dressed, he managed to get naked even before Mycroft. Wearing only the ever present leather-string with the ring around his neck, he got in the shower, joined by Mycroft seconds later. 

* * *

Half an hour later breakfast was laid out picnic style on top of a blanket over a couple of bales of straw. Outside showers of rain kept pouring down but the intervals got longer and the sun began peeping through the clouds ever so often.

Sherlock studied Greg, who sported still an aura of post coital bliss, from head to toe. He considered the man's facial expression and wondered if sexual activities lowered the IQ. Mycroft still looked virtually besotted whenever his gaze fell upon his boyfriend but he was probably suffering from the same phenomenon. Perhaps it was something he could write a paper about at school. A thought occured to Sherlock. If Greg and his brother kept up their sexual acitivities, maybe in another two weeks time he would be the smart one in the family. 

Since the muscles of all four of them ached from yesterday's labour, they didn't really mind staying inside reading, once the last drop of tea and every single crumb of bread had been consumed. 

John kept giggling over 'So long and Thanks for All the Fish – part 4 of The Hitchhiker's Guide' and in return Sherlock ever so often read him passages from 'The Search of Schrödinger's Cat', a book about Quantum Physics.  
Greg did his best to get a firmer grasp on police legislation and Mycroft read a thick book with ominous content in Russian. 

Eventually the sun came out for good and they left the barn. Greg and Mycroft took care of taking the blankets to the house, restore the hay beds to their original condition and did the dishes. Greg had told John and Sherlock they could go exploring but shouldn't go to the neighbour's garden on their right for the man had a couple of geese. 

They had just put the blankets into the washing machine, when they heard someone screaming outside. Dropping everything, they ran outside and saw Sherlock just disappearing round a corner, two angry geese hot in pursuit. John Watson was literally shaking with laughter. 

Sherlock, he told them, had said, that a goose was nothing but a big duck and had walked straight into the neighbour's garden. Apparently the big ducks had serious plans on killing Sherlock and after the second lap around the house, Greg intercepted the hissing geese with a broom and chased them back to their compound. 

Sherlock was a little pale but for once the usually kind and compassionate John couldn't stop laughing. The moment he looked at Sherlock's indignant face, he burst out laughing again. Mycroft saw that Sherlock began to look really hurt and came to his rescue. It was only necessary for Greg and him to exchange a glance. When Mycroft grabbed the smaller boy, Greg immediately began to work the pump to start the water flow and John received quite a cooling. 

Mycroft had to throw all his diplomatic skills into the task of making John apologize to Sherlock before he himself apologized to John. 

Greg's grandmother served them all tea and biscuits but eventually the afternoon came to an end.  
It was almost six in the evening when Greg watched his guests pile into Mycroft's car and, after some serious snogging through the lowered window to a concert of two teenagers complaining from the back-seat, drive away.


	18. In Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg calls Mycroft for his grandparents went to London and in an empty house they can do as they please. Sherlok is all too happy for is brother to leave. He hasto conduct an experience that needs his attention.

“Do you want to come over tonight? My grandparents went to London to visit friends and see 'Me and My Girl'. They're going to stay over-night,” Greg told Mycroft over the phone. 

“Of course, Gregory. I don't know about you but I am not a good cook. I could pick up something at Giulia's.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

“When do you want me to come?”

“Preferably together with me.”

Mycroft blushed furiously. The laughter over the phone told him, Greg knew he did.

“Sorry, Myc, couldn't help it. How about six?”

“With pleasure.” Mycroft grinned.

“Um, Myc?”

“Yes Gregory.”

“I... I went to the chemist's shop and picked up some lube and condoms.”

Mycroft gulped. Unable to come up with an appropriate answer he tried for something safe. “Well, I'm looking forward to see you soon.”

The tension wasn't exactly bad but Greg felt the need to lighten the mood.

“Oh and please, don't bring Sherlock and John tonight.”

That did the trick. Mycroft laughed and after he promised to leave the teenagers at home, he hung up.

* * *

Mycroft was a bit surprised that Sherlock didn't protest when he announced he would visit Gregory without him and John. Little did he know that his brother had fleshed out an experience to prove the theory he had postulated the day before. He was actually glad his brother was leaving. It would give them some space. Still.

“I need you to drive me to town first,” Sherlock told his sibling. “I need to go to the book store.”

“I am not your chauffeur!”

John, ninety-nine per cent on Sherlock's side, gave Mycroft a very good reason why they should go to town nonetheless. “The copies of the photos we ordered can be picked up today. I could do that while Sherlock is looking for his books.”

That convinced Mycroft. He had already decided that he'd give Gregory a frame for his photo as well. The same one he would buy for himself.

Checking his watch he ushered the teenagers to his car. “It's four already. Let's go straight away.”

* * *

Greg spend the better part of the afternoon chopping wood for his grandfather. While he took a break, he tidied up his room and tried to decide where to store the lube and the condoms. Not on the night stand, that was too crude. The top drawer perhaps. So far he hadn't opened it and therefore he was almost shocked when he discovered his grandparents' actually kept a bible in the drawer. He was not a religious person but somehow the idea of storing the supplies he hoped to use tonight together with the bible didn't sit well with him. Not least because the church didn't approve of same sex relationships.  
The bible was relocated to a small bookshelf in the corner. He hoped he'd remember to put it back and remove his stuff when he left. He really didn't want his grandmother finding condoms instead of the bible. She was a very liberal woman but he wouldn't want to put it to the test. 

When he was satisfied that everything looked nice, but not too nice, he took a shower and went back to chopping wood. Since it was warm enough he decided to take off his shirt. He was certain that Mycroft would very much approve of the way he looked.

* * *

“John, would you mind helping me with an experiment?” Sherlock asked. He had learned that asking John would most likely ensure his help.

“What kind of experiment?” John too had learned his lesson.

“It has to do with the IQ. You'd have to participate in performing a short intelligence test on a daily basis over the next ten days.”

“And that's all?” 

“Well, yes. Mostly. I have a theory that certain activities lower the IQ. Mycroft is also helping, although he doesn't know it yet.” 

Sherlock knew that sharing a secret not only gained John's trust but also distracted him. In this case hopefully from asking about the activities.

“My brother doesn't know yet that he's participating and I'd be glad if you would keep that information to yourself.”

“Are we going to get in trouble for that?”

“No, we won't. Cross my heart.”

John was not fully convinced but was willing to help for now. So he sat down with a pencil Sherlock gave him and began working on the first intelligence test. Sherlock stood by his side, timing his progress. Once John was finished Sherlock put everything away and told him it'd be probably time for supper. Distracting John with food also worked most of the times.

* * *

Mycroft approve so very much about Greg chopping wood without wearing a shirt that he promptly forgot the food in the car. A light sheen of sweat made his skin look almost golden, complementing the muscles of his shoulders. The sun was still warm and Greg, who had taken another shower only fifteen minutes ago, smelled heavenly. 

Mycroft took his time inhaling the enticing scent of his boyfriend while kissing him senseless. 

They sat down on the terrace with a bottle of wine and delicious pasta, sharing the dishes Mycroft had brought. While eating Mycroft pulled out a small package and handed it over.

“I brought something for you.”

“A gift?” Greg took the package. It was something rectangle, wrapped in white paper an decorated with a silver ribbon.

“Thanks. Mind if I open it now?”

“No.” Mycroft shook his head and Greg unwrapped carefully the framed photo. It was the picture of them together with John and Sherlock. Greg smiled. This is lovely. Such a nice memory of your trip to Cornwall.

Mycroft pulled out an envelope and handed it to Greg. 

“I know you'd want copies of these two as well.”

Greg pulled out the photos that showed both Mycroft and himself. Putting them on the table he didn't say anything but kept looking at them quietly.

Mycroft was fairly certain that Greg liked both pictures but a bit of uncertainty remained.

“Do you like them?” His voice sounded a little nervous.

Greg looked at him. He caressed the frame gently with his thumb before he touched the other two photos. “No, I don't like them.” Before Mycroft could react he added, “I love them. They're bloody marvellous.” He kept looking back and forth between the photos and Mycroft. “You are beautiful, you know?” Greg told him.

Mycroft blushed and lowered his gaze. “Thank you, Gregory.”

Greg reached over the table and pulled his boyfriend close to kiss him. “I mean it.”

He ran his fingertips gently over the photo in which the looked at each other.

“You love me,” Greg said.

Mycroft nodded. “Yes.”

“And I love you.” He pulled him in for another kiss. “Let's get upstairs,” he whispered eventually, his voice hoarse.

Mycroft nodded again eagery and they got inside, leaving food and wine on the table outside.

* * *

John stretched, yawned and slipped between the sheets of his bed. He hadn't slept too much in the barn and was too tired to read. 

“Good night, Sherlock,” he said, before he turned to his left side, facing the wall.

John wasn't surprised that Sherlock didn't wish him a good night in return but he was really startled when his friend suddenly climbed into the bed with him.

“Sherlock what are you..?” The question died on John's lips when he felt Sherlock's hand dive inside his pyjama bottoms to grab his cock. 

“Aaaah!” John couldn't prevent himself reacting to the touch. He was quickly growing and stiffening when his friend began massaging him.

So far John had only tried stimulating himself and hadn't felt such an intimate touch from either girl or boy. Sherlock's touches were clumsy at first but the boy soon got more confident. It was over all too quickly. One moment John arched into the touch, the next he was coming all over Sherlock's hand and his own stomach. Before John could come to terms what had just happened, Sherlock slipped from his bed, went to his own and scribbled for a minute or two in the diary in which he made notes about his experiments. Then he switched off the light and fell asleep, leaving a seriously confused John, who had to come to terms with his first not self-applied hand-job- and a wet patch in his pyjama bottoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Sabine for the idea of Greg chopping wood. I'm certain neither one of us would mind to watch him chopping wood without wearing a shirt.


	19. Cause and Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Mycroft and Greg had penetrative sex for the first time, day two of Sherlock's experiment to prove that sexual activities lower the IQ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I kept you waiting but I had the house full of visitors and they wouldn't approve of me retreating to write for a couple of hours. It takes some time to write a chapter as I am not a native speaker.

Greg winced when he got up. What on earth...? Oh yes, he remembered. Vividly. For the first time he had tried penetrative sex with him being penetrated. Before Mycroft he had had a few girlfriends and had slept with two of them. So he knew a bit about penetration but never before had he tried it with another male. 

He had told Mycroft he wanted him to be the one on top. Mycroft was very observant and Greg trusted him to do it right, although they didn't have much to go on, except a few bits and pieces of information they had heard about.

They both had been nervous but once they had gotten undressed, started kissing and caressing each other, they had quickly relaxed. Eventually Greg had fished the lube and condoms from the drawer, had got on his knees and presented Mycroft with his very presentable bottom. It took all but ten seconds for the first incident to occur. The moment Mycroft had pulled his cheeks apart for better access, he had farted. Greg thought he would die from embarrassment but Mycroft had actually laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed.

“That being said, maybe we can get down to business.” Mycroft had leaned over and kissed his neck and in the process the embarrassment away. 

The following laughter had relaxed them both and most of the next half hour had been everything Greg could have wished for. Yes, there had been pain but unbelievable pleasure too. They both indeed had come almost together, like Greg had told Mycroft over the phone, before they had collapsed into a sticky, trembling heap.

Greg was glad his grandparents hadn't been home. He'd have been hard pressed to explain the noises he had produced. They had changed the sheets before falling asleep and Greg liked the idea of going to bed the following evening with the scent of Mycroft still surrounding him.  
He wanted to have the used sheets washed before his grandparents came back. Of course, they would know when they saw the sheets attached to the clothesline but that was different.

After a quick shower Greg went downstairs to raid the kitchen. He was peering inside the fridge when he was engulfed in a hug from behind and a kiss was placed where his neck met his shoulder.  
He hummed appreciatively. 

“Morning, Mycroft.” He winced again when he turned to face the younger man. Wearing only his boxers and his hair in total disarray, Mycroft looked perfect. Greg wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's neck.

“I'm sorry, I hurt you, Gregory.” Mycroft looked at him guiltily. 

“I guess that couldn't be helped. It's part of the deal and I really don't mind,” Greg told him and shrugged.

“I'm still sorry.” Mycroft gently fondle the hurting body part.

“If you keep that up, breakfast will have to be postponed.” 

Both their stomachs growled simultaneously. With a sigh and a final tweak to the well-toned bottom, Mycroft let him go.

“So, breakfast.”

Greg pulled bread, butter, cheese and jam from the fridge. “I could go outside to get some fresh eggs from the chickens.” 

Mycroft nodded. “Sound good to me. I put the kettle on and take a shower.”

 

They had breakfast twenty minutes later. Greg was a bit sorry that Mycroft was fully dressed again. He had enjoyed watching him wearing only his boxers. Looking at him across the table, Greg couldn't decide whether he preferred the slight dusting of ginger hair on his chest or the freckles that bloomed abundantly on his shoulders, now hidden from his sight. 

“You like both equally,” Mycroft told him. 

Greg blinked. “I like what equally?” 

“My freckles and my chest hair.”

Greg huffed and shook his head. “Your talent of mind-reading would be very useful in policing.”

“I don't read minds,” Mycroft replied. “Both Sherlock and I can't help it really. We observe, run it through our brain and come up with the most likely conclusion. “You were roaming with your eyes over my chest and shoulders several times, you licked your lips and your pupils dilated. Also, you have shown me several times that you find both attractive.”

Mycroft couldn't help but still sounding incredulous when he said attractive but at the same time his skin tingled pleasantly when he remembered Gregory's touch.

* * *

Sherlock wondered, if his actions the evening before had been a mistake. Every time he came close to John, the teenager backed away and when Sherlock touched him on the shoulder, he almost jumped out of his skin.

Too bad he couldn't ask Mycroft or Greg. It might stop them having IQ-lowering sex or at least distort the results of his experiment. Best to distract John with some activities that gave him the chance to keep his distance. If his thesis proved to be correct, John's mind should be dulled enough within a few days to offer less resistance.

Sherlock's suggestion of taking the bicycles his grandparents owned to drive the ten miles to town for crisps and ice cream, was met with enthusiasm. The ride to town would also give Sherlock time to come up with some tricky questions he knew his brother had the answers to in the past. He needed some comparative values to prove his thesis. Knowing Mycroft was really smart, he wondered, if three weeks of indulgence would be enough for a tangible result.

* * *

Greg and Mycroft spend the better part of the afternoon in the local book-store. Neither one of them ever tired of browsing one section after another. Mycroft smiled when he watched Gregory handling a thick hardback book about football like it was of immense value. His boyfriend's brown eyes shone brightly when he leafed through the treasure with out-most care. Greg sighed softly when placing it back.

“What were you looking at?” Mycroft asked him.

“The Football Grounds of England and Wales by Simon Inglis. The book is even signed but it's too expensive for me. Maybe they have the paperback available.” 

When Greg went to the bathroom Mycroft bought the signed book and put it into his backpack together with the other books he had selected. He told the sales person that the book was a gift for his friend. Should he ask if the paperback was available, it' be nice not to give an affirmative answer. 

Greg eventually bought The Key to Rebecca, a spy novel by Ken Follett. In addition to the Simon Inglis book and two books on British politics and history, Mycroft got Judgement in Berlin by Herbert Jay Stern. Both were keen on reading their purchase, so they went next door into the backyard of a café. They settled in the comfortable armchairs under a large chestnut tree that offered plenty of shade. Ordering tea for Mycroft and coffee and ice cream for Greg, they began reading. Mycroft had stretched his long legs under Greg's chair, Greg had taken off his shoes and dumped his feet onto Mycroft's chair, next to his thigh. 

 

“Hey there!” Mycroft looked up startled. His left hand, that had been playing absent-mindedly with Gregory's toes, stilled. John and Sherlock stood there, faces looking sweaty, their hair tousled from wind, each one juggling a coke and ice cream. Greg pulled up two chairs for the teenagers to join them.

“That's some way you went,” Mycroft told them, when they were seated. “Braving all those hills with the bikes can't have been fun in the head wind.”

“It was okay,” John replied. “At least for me,” he added. “Sherlock was riding in my slipstream most of the time.” He grinned, when his friend huffed with indignation. 

“I did not. I was merely going at a more comfortable speed. It was your own fault you went so fast.”

“If I had gone any slower I would have fallen over.”

Sherlock pouted but he was pleased to see that John no longer shied away from him and talked as he usually did.

Both Greg and Mycroft sported wide grins while they listened to John and Sherlock's bickering, deciding this was how family should feel like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The younger ones here might be baffled that Greg and Mycroft are a bit clueless about penetrative sex but in 1985 there was no internet to ask all those "how to"-questions.


	20. London Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has an appointment at the College of Policing in London. This time he and Mycroft go to London together.

Greg pushed the stop-button and gently pulled the ear-plug from Mycroft's ear. He looked at the teenager, who was sleeping with his head resting against Greg's shoulder. It was only six thirty and Mycroft had been studying all night long, trying to catch up on his studies. Never before had Mycroft spent - his parents probably would say wasted - so much time with anyone as he did with Greg. Fortunately he was a quick study, could read with amazing speed and still understand complex facts and correlations. Eight hours of power-learning had exhausted him though. 

Now they sat in the bus to London where Greg was supposed to sign papers and bring the latest certificate of health to the College of Policing. He could have done it by mail but the chance for a trip to London together with Mycroft was too good to be missed. 

The trip to Victoria would take two and a half hours. They had shared the headphone and listened to some music but Mycroft had fallen asleep only a few minutes later.

Greg shifted slightly, trying not to disturb the younger man, before he leaned his cheek against Mycroft's head, enjoying the physical closeness. He smelled his shampoo, enjoyed the warmth against his side, listened to the soft breathing noises and felt the twitching of Mycroft's fingers weaved together with his own, wondering what he was dreaming. 

The morning rush hour was in full swing when they reached Victoria Station. 

They got out of the bus and Mycroft pulled Greg across the street. “This way,” Mycroft told him and kept walking till they came to Eaton Square. There he turned left. “We're going to Sloan Square. There's a nice café to have breakfast and we can catch a bus there. Much less crowded than in and around Victoria Station.”

Less than ten minutes later they sat down in a small Italian café, ordered coffee and hot breakfast. 

The first cup downed, Mycroft gave a satisfied sigh. “Now that my brain is properly fuelled, we can start planning the day.” He dug out a map and pointed at a side street branching from King's Road. “That's where we're going to spend the night. My parent's house.”

“Chelsea? Neat!” Greg was impressed. “Did you call them yesterday or is this a surprise visit?”

“Neither. During summer they're mostly in our house in Loudwater. They plan on moving there permanently in a couple of years when Sherlock will start going to college.”

“College in two years? Thought he was only twelve years old.”

“He is but he already skipped two classes and is still better than any other student. From purely educational point of view he'd be better off with a tutor at home but our parents decided we should meet other children”, Mycroft shuddered visibly, “to make friends.” 

Greg laughed. “You didn't enjoy that, did you?”

“Not really.”

They finished their breakfast and walked to Mycroft's home. Greg got a tour through the large flat that could have easily accommodate a family of eight. He had lived with his parents and siblings in a flat that was just as big as the living-room and the kitchen together. And this flat even came with a drawing-room, the shelves along the walls filled with hundreds of books.

Mycroft's room was tasteful furnished but apart from the queen-sized bed it looked more like another drawing-room than a room a teenager lived in. 

Greg insisted on checking out all the book-stores along Charing Cross Road and reluctantly Mycroft told him that he had got him the signed copy of The Football Grounds of England and Wales by Simon Inglis, so there was no need to look for it. 

The revelation earned Mycroft a snog that left him breathless and seeing stars in bright daylight.

* * *

The appointment at the College of Policing was at four in the afternoon. Mycroft said, he'd go for a walk and meet Greg in an hour. Greg went inside the college and Mycroft left.  
He was back on time but apparently Greg's appointment took longer than he had expected. Twenty minutes passed and Mycroft was still waiting, when he heard shouting. A police officer, the rank insignia on his uniform identified him as a Commissioner, was dragging two young men by their collars down the stairs of the building. 

“What do you think this is?” the man shouted, pointing at the building. “Police officers are educated here. We have no use for fairies,” he spat. “As long as I'm Commissioner, no faggot is going to defile this institution!” He kicked one man in the leg, the other barely managed to duck a fist that was swinging in this direction. With one last look at the Commissioner, the young men bolted.

Mycroft's face had turned white as a sheet. If this man saw Gregory kissing him, his boyfriend's career with the police would be over before it had even begun. Oh god, what could he do? Greg could not kiss or hug him here. And he couldn't see Mycroft like this. He would immediately know that something was wrong. 

Mycroft quickly formed an idea, not a perfect one but as he saw his boyfriend just leaving the building, there was no other option. He quickly crossed the street before Greg spotted him and closed his eyes. In his mind he called up a map of the surroundings. Yes, that could work.

When Greg crossed the street, Mycroft waved and ran. 

“What the fuck...?”

Mycroft had no idea if Greg would buy that this was supposed to be a playful chase but he knew Greg would follow him. The future police officer was fast but Mycroft had the physique of a race horse and his long legs carried him effortlessly along the streets. A few blocks from the College he ducked around a corner, making sure Greg had seen him, and ran into a back-yard with large trees. There he allowed Greg to catch up with him.

“What was that about,” Greg panted, when he had reached him. 

“I thought you could use the practise of chasing a suspect,” Mycroft lied. He knew his face wasn't clearly visible in the combination of light and shade under the trees, so hopefully Greg wouldn't see the distress Mycroft wasn't fully able to conceal. 

Greg eyed him suspiciously. “Are you okay, Myc?” 

Fear of imminent loss almost knocked Mycroft to the ground and he swallowed. Looking at Greg, at his Gregory, he realised how much he loved him and that he would have to make a decision soon. Very soon. 

“I love you!” Mycroft swallowed. “And right now I want you so much it almost hurts.” That was the truth. 

Greg walked into his arms. Pressing Mycroft's back against a large tree, he kissed him. Mycroft held him tightly and kissed him back so hard it was almost bruising. 

“Take me home, Gregory. Take me home and... and take me.” 

They stared at each other. Greg still felt something wasn't right but the desire was clearly visible in Mycroft's blue eyes and he nodded.

They hurried back to the street and Mycroft flagged down a cab. 

* * * 

It began to get dark outside when Mycroft looked at the sleeping form in his arms. They had taken their time making love again, this time with Mycroft being penetrated. The sensations had been unbelievable and when they had peaked, they both had literally howled with pleasure. They had kept kissing, coming down from their high, and cleaned each other with a flannel before crawling under the duvet. Mycroft had caressed his lover until he had fallen asleep, his head resting on Mycroft's chest. 

Now Mycroft was lying in the dark, holding the man he loved close and while he made the decision that would influence both their lives forever, tears kept running down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know it the College of Policing already had offices in South London and I don't know about the correct procedures in England. The homophobia within the police is of course my own invention but I'm certain that in 1985 it was more difficult for gay officers than it is today - especially with the law about the age of consent looming in the background.


	21. Proof of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second day in London is a lot "fluffier" than the first one ended. Greg has given his relationship with Mycroft some thought too.

It was around four in the morning when Mycroft woke up, finding himself alone in his bed. He waited for a couple of minutes, expecting Gregory to use the bathroom but there was no sound. He switched on the lamp on the bedside table. Both their clothes was still lying in a heap on the floor. Rolling out of the bed Mycroft winced slightly. Now he had an idea why Greg had walked funny for the better part of the other day. Mycroft wondered if last night's activities had been a mistake since a good amount of walking around London and a bus ride lay in front of them. But first he had to find Gregory.

He found him sitting on the bench in the kitchen, the small light over the hearth switched on, eating a bowl of cereal. Mycroft smiled fondly. Like himself, Gregory wore only his pyjama bottoms and socks. Walking over, he pressed a kiss to the other man's neck.

Greg looked up, munching on his cereal. “Sorry,” he apologized between two spoon full. “We skipped dinner and I was really hungry.”

Mycroft kissed a stain from the chocolate cereal from the corner of Greg's mouth. “I apologize for forcing you to bed without dinner.”

“You didn't force me. Besides, what you offered was much better than any food in London or elsewhere could possibly be.” He ran a hand over Mycroft's flank and let it rest on the attractive swell of his bottom. “Hope you don't hurt too bad.”

Mycroft shook his head and sat down next to Greg, with his back turned to the table and his legs facing the other way. Greg offered him a spoon full of chocolate cereal. Mycroft took it and chewed thoughtfully. 

“I haven't eaten it in years. I used to but now”, he looked down to his flat stomach, “Sherlock eats it by the kilo.” Licking his lips, he added, “I forgot how good it tastes.” Another spoon full came his way.

The fridge had been empty and they had only bought milk for their breakfast. 

Once the bowl was empty, Greg put the spoon down and pulled Mycroft in for a thorough kiss. 

“It tastes even better in your mouth,” Mycroft rumbled and kissed Greg again. Hands, lips and tongues kept exploring territory that had been mapped out intimately before.

“Man, you're going to be my death,” Greg panted. “How can you turn me on with just a couple of minutes of kissing.”

“Four point five minutes,” Mycroft corrected him but agreed, for he was already hard in his pyjama bottoms too. 

“Maybe there's something in the cereal.”

“That would explain a lot about Sherlock,” Mycroft deadpanned. 

They laughed and Greg pulled Mycroft to his feet. “Let's get back to bed and do something about this.” He rubbed his front suggestively against his lover's leg.

They fell into bed and, considerate of Mycroft's sore bottom, Greg took matters in his hand and rubbed them much quicker than should have been possible to release.  
* * *

They had slept some more, managed to get up at nine and were now walking along the Thames holding hands. A café in a side street offered sunshine and a nice view. They sat down side by side and ordered hot sandwiches, tea and orange juice. Mycroft watched Greg from the corners of his eyes. The man looked contemplative. 

“Gregory...”

“Mycroft...”

They had spoken simultaneously. 

“Go ahead,” Mycroft said. “You look like there's something on your mind.”

“Well, I've been thinking.” Greg ran a hand nervously through his hair, the other fumbling in the pocket of his trousers. He huffed resolutely and reached with his left hand for Mycroft's right.  
“You probably think it is too soon or stupid but I love you and I know you love me.” Greg pulled the ring, he usually wore on the leather strap around his neck, from the pocket. He held it in front of Mycroft's right ring-finger.

“May I?”

Mycroft felt his eyes wetting. Incapable of speech, he nodded.

Greg slid the ring onto his finger. It fit like it had been made for him. 

“Like I said, this is probably stupid but I seriously hope that one day I can move it from your right hand to your left.” 

They both stared at the ring which bore the inscription Eternal Love on the inside.

“I'm sorry, I don't have...” Mycroft stammered.

“Sshhh!” Greg held a finger to Mycroft's lips. “It sounds preposterous but somehow I know that no matter what happens, you will always love me. You don't have to give me a ring or anything else to prove it.”

For an answer, Mycroft kissed his Gregory, trying to tell him through this kiss that his assumption had been anything but preposterous.

* * *

Mycroft couldn't help looking again and again at the ring at his finger. It felt odd, especially since he had never worn a ring before. He wondered if his grandparents and maybe later his parents would ask and what he was supposed to tell them. The first he would have to answer to though, would be Sherlock but he could tell his brother the truth. Mycroft felt warmth spreading through his chest, when he thought about his younger sibling. He had no idea what he would do without him.

Walking around London for almost three hours had been a bit painful but it probably had been the right thing to do, for when Mycroft sat down in the bus, his bottom no longer hurt. 

Greg kept holding Mycroft's hand almost all the way back home. He saw his own happiness reflected in his boyfriend's eyes and knew that giving him the ring had been the right decision. 

They walked the short distance from the bus station to the petrol station where Greg had left his motorcycle. Inside the shop they picked up their helmets that had been kept there. In return for the favour Greg gave the kid who worked at the counter a t-shirt that had the word “Queen” and a picture of Queen Elisabeth II on the front and “Queen” and a print of the rock band on it's back. The sixteen year old boy beamed at him. 

* * *

Greg drove Mycroft home. The moment they pulled into the driveway, both John and Sherlock came running towards them. It didn't take a genius to see that there was trouble. John's face looked like the teenager had been crying, Sherlock wore an expression of ultimate boredom to mask his true emotions.

“Can you take me to the bus station?” John asked Greg. “I want to go home.”

“He can't take your suitcase, idiot!” Sherlock snapped at the smaller boy. 

“I don't care, as long as I'm away from you!” John shouted and turned his back on Sherlock. Greg saw that tears threatened to spill. 

He and Mycroft exchanged quick glances before Mycroft tugged his brother towards the house while Greg stayed with John. 

The younger teenager grabbed the helmet Mycroft had left hanging on the handlebar of the motorcycle.

“Please, I want to leave,” John pleaded.

Greg's heart went out to him. Whatever had happened, had seriously upset the boy.

“I need to get my stuff home,” Greg told him. Pointing with a thumb at the backpack he carried. “Is it okay to go there first?”

John nodded humbly before he climbed onto the motorcycle to sit behind Greg. Greg kicked the bike back into gear and slowly drove off.

Sherlock's head whipped around, when he heard the motorcycle leaving. He turned and ran back but only just saw the tail light disappear. 

“John!” His voice was suddenly very small. Sherlock looked up at his brother, his eyes asking for help.

“Come on,” Mycroft said, “let's sit down and talk.”


	22. Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't leave you hanging with what might have happened between John and Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for staying with the story and for your support via Kudos and/or Comments. I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate your on-going support.

It was late when Greg arrived with John at his grandparents' house. 

“Look, I don't think there's a bus going anywhere tonight. Why don't you stay here, we talk and see if we can fix the situation.”

“I'll stay but there's nothing to fix.” 

“Mm.. okay.”

They went inside and although his grandmother was surprised at first that Greg brought a visitor, she nodded when he asked if the younger teenager could stay for the night. 

Greg showed John his room and fetched one of his t-shirts. It was too big for John but since it was only an ersatz for a pyjama for one night, it would do.

“Why don't you wash your face and then come downstairs,” Greg suggested. “I'll make some tea.”

John nodded. 

Greg explained to his grandmother the little he knew. 

“Poor little tyke. The closer the friend the more a fight hurts.”

When John came into the kitchen, Greg had made tea and several slices of bread with jam or cheese sat on a plate in the middle of the table. 

“Sugar?”

John shook his head. “Only milk, please.”

Greg watched the younger teenager eat. Hesitatingly at first but after he had eaten the first slice of bread, he developed enough appetite that Greg had to fetch some more slices in order to fill his own stomach. 

John kept his face down. He ignored Greg's supple “So?” and the young man didn't pry. He hoped that after a good night's sleep, John would feel better and would be willing to talk.

Maybe Mycroft had more luck with Sherlock and could tell him over the phone what was going on. 

* * *

Mycroft went inside the house to go to the bathroom, where he wrapped a plaster around his right ring-finger. Neither he nor his brother needed the distraction of the questions that would arise, when Sherlock spotted the ring. His grandparents probably wouldn't take notice of either the plaster nor the ring once it would be revealed. Upon Mycroft's question, if they knew what had caused the trouble between John and Sherlock, they both had only shrugged and told him they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. 

Knowing it would get him no-where if he beat around the bush, Mycroft asked Sherlock directly.

“Now, what did you do to upset John?”

“Why would you think I did something to upset him?” Sherlock threw himself onto his bed, Mycroft perched on the edge of the bed John had used. The duvet was meticulously folded.

“Well, did you?”

“Fine, I told him the truth. That's what I did!”

“The truth about what?”

“Thexperiment.”

“What?”

“The Ex Per I Ment!” Sherlock shouted.

Mycroft closed his eyes. “Care to elaborate what the experiment involved?”

“No.” Sherlock turned to his side and presented his brother with the view of his back. For a moment Mycroft thought that this was the usual Sherlock-pout but then he saw the skinny shoulder's of his younger brother were shaking slightly.

“Come on, Sherlock. I'm trying to help you. John had something to do for your experiment?”

A nod.

“What was it?”

“IQ tests.”

“And that was the only thing that was involved in your experiment?” Mycroft asked softly. “I somehow doubt that John would get so upset about doing IQ tests.”

“He was upset about the sex.” Sherlock huffed in exasperation. “And I thought he liked it.”

It took Mycroft the better part of an hour until he had finally extracted the whole of the story from Sherlock. When his brother had finally confessed everything, Mycroft had his doubts that either he or Gregory would be able to talk John around.

* * *

Greg was up early the following morning. Mycroft had called before he had gone to bed the day before and had explained what Sherlock had done. Apparently the teenager had jerked his friend off three days in a row. The first two times John had been too surprised to act but the third time he had actually grabbed Sherlock and tried to return the favour. Sherlock had slapped the hand away and told him, he didn't want to end up stupid. John had been too confused to press the subject. Yesterday afternoon Sherlock had tried to continue his experiment and he really didn't understand why John had got upset. The whole thing was part of the experiment John had agreed to participate in and yes this was the only reason he had done it. 

Greg couldn't even begin to imagine how John felt. Discovering his own sexuality was probably the most embarrassing part of puberty. Sherlock hadn't laughed at John but he had played with him and most likely with the boys feeling.   
He was sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and leafing through yesterdays newspaper, when John came downstairs. They didn't talk over breakfast but before John could ask again to be taken to the bus station, Greg suggested to go for a walk.

They walked for half an hour before John began to talk. The boy had stuffed his fists into the pockets of his jeans and told Greg his version of the story. Interesting enough what had upset him the most, was that Sherlock had rejected him. No, he didn't like being an experiment and he felt he wasn't ready for a sexual relationship but it had hurt him the most that Sherlock had appeared literally horrified when John had tried to touch him intimately. 

“What would you have done?” John asked, his dark blue eyes bored into Greg's, imploring him to give an answer.

“Seriously John? I would have punched him,” Greg answered truthfully. 

John shrugged. “Well, I did that. And now what?”

“You did?”

“I didn't punch him in the face. Only his shoulder.” A bit sheepishly John added, “I didn't want to injure him. He..” John blushed to a bright scarlet, “he has a nice face.”

“He has a nice face,” Greg agreed and after a moment, “What do you want, John? Do you want to give Sherlock another chance or shall I drive you to the bus station?” He was pretty certain he knew the answer.

“Sherlock has to apologize. And I don't want him to touch me like that again. I'm no experiment.”

“You are most certainly not.” Greg said. “So, we're going back and give Mycroft a call?” 

* * *

It was early afternoon when the four of them had gone for a walk together. Now Greg and Mycroft were sitting on the slope of a hill, watching the young teenagers talk from a distance; not listening, merely observing. 

“I'm surprised Sherlock is getting another chance,” Mycroft said, leaning into the solid warmth of his boyfriend. He tipped his head back and Greg leaned down to seal their lips together. 

“Fishing in the large ocean of the human race, I got really lucky and caught myself a Holmes.” Greg wrapped both arms around Mycroft possessively and kissed the crown of his head. “Maybe John also knows that the catch he made is too good to throw back in, although he got himself a rather prickly specimen.”

Mycroft blinked, contemplating what his boyfriend had just told him. He would have never considered himself, or his brother, being a good catch. Yet he was loved and appreciated. And maybe, if Sherlock managed not to alienate his friend again, John would keep him.


	23. Sex, no Drugs but Rock 'n Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a town fair John has the chance to prove his already blooming shooting skills, the boys get plenty to eat and there'll be some dancing.

It was still early in the morning when Greg rode his motorcycle back to his grandparents' house. He had spent the night with Mycroft, curled around each other in the small bed. There were only a few days left until the end of their holiday and they wanted to spend as much time together as possible. Greg would start his training on Thursday, 1st August. He would go home to pack on the 30th July, which was in five days. Mycroft had to head back to London the same day. Those four weeks had been an actual holiday but before he would go back to uni he had to go to New York for an internship with the UN. He would leave at the 31st July. For the sake of spending as much time with Greg as possible, he had stretched his stay to the limit.

Greg parked his Kawasaki, took a quick shower and went outside to do the work he had promised his grandparents to complete before he left. It was his way of payment for the holiday in their house.

In the afternoon he drove over to Mycroft's grandparents again. There he left his bike and together with John and Sherlock, Mycroft drove them all to town. On the occasion of the town's 555th anniversary, as a fun fai took place. Plenty of things to see, eat and do, not to mention music. For the sake of trying as much of the offered food as possible, they all had skipped lunch at home. 

They made it as far as the marketplace where they all stuffed their faces so thoroughly, that they spent the following hour groaning and digesting. Greg and John had tried all seven curry dishes an Indian food parlour offered. Mycroft had proved he was as much a sweet tooth as Sherlock said he was and almost overdosed on the cake buffet. Even Sherlock had eaten enough to last him probably until Christmas. He had tried the whole variety of food at a booth called 'Chemical Imbalance', where the students from the local school offered their partially highly imaginative creations.

When the four finally decided their legs would support their weight again, they slowly toured the town centre. More food was as much out of question as any ride, like a small roller-coaster or a carousel but eventually John stopped at a shooting gallery. The teenager's eyes went wide when he looked at the small-bore weapons. Apparently John had forgiven Sherlock because he dragged him over.

“Make your choice. I can shoot anything you want to have.”

He was tempted to ask John to shoot the operator of the booth, which Sherlock disliked on sight, but he settled for a black bison skull.

“You have to hit twelve of those moving targets in a row. Do you feel up to it, Tiny?” 

Only Mycroft's lightning-fast response saved the operator from having his nose broken by Sherlock, who still managed to jump on the counter before his brother's hands grabbed him from behind.

“Let me go,” Sherlock squirmed in Mycroft's grip. “He has no right to call John tiny.”

“Sherlock is right,” Greg told the man, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “You need to treat your customers with respect.”

An elder couple and a small family of four, who stood beside them, nodded their agreement and the man, although gritting his teeth, apologized to John.

He handed John a small-bore pistol. “Here, it's already loaded with twelve rounds.”

 

Mycroft shook his head. He and Sherlock had watched a few people shoot and that pistol was crap if one wanted to hit a target. The brothers whispered for a moment before they agreed on a different pistol.

“We want that pistol and John can load the pistol himself.” Mycroft had doubts that there were indeed twelve rounds in the magazine of the pistol that had been offered. 

John beamed with pride. He took the pistol, loaded it and took careful aim. He fired twelve times and under loud cheers from bystanders, he was handed the bison skull. 

“That was amazing!” Sherlock told his friend. 

Mycroft looked as if he would suffer from a seizure at any moment. He felt his brother's forehead. “Are you feeling all right, Sherlock?”

“Yes,” Greg tuned in, “we better take him home.”

Sherlock thumped both Mycroft and Greg in the chest but couldn't help grinning when John solemnly presented the bison skull.

It took some persuading before Sherlock was willing to carry the prized trophy back to the car for Mycroft to lock it in the boot. 

They went back to the market place to listen to the band of the local school. If anything the students were creative with names for their band was called 'Hearing Impaired'. The six students were definitely better than their name let on. 

At eight a cover band called B-Side played. An area was cleared for dancing and within minutes the group had most of the young people singing along and moving with the music. They were really good and played a mixture of pop and rock. During the break Greg and Mycroft got beer for themselves and coke for John and Sherlock, who's faces were as heated from dancing as those of the older two. 

Eventually the band played slow, soft music and created a quiet, romantic atmosphere. 

John and Sherlock wandered off on their own. The music was okay but they had really no interest in watching couples snogging and making out while dancing. They went to a booth were cocktails were served and watched people getting drunk. Sherlock was trying to deduce people for John, enjoying his friend giggles.

Plenty of couples were dancing and nobody paid attention that Greg and Mycroft were among them. They swayed to the music and had their faces buried in each other's neck. Greg felt Mycroft's hands roam his body. He couldn't help but moan when the younger man gently ran his hands along his back and soft lips were grazing along the soft skin of his neck. He tilted his head to give Mycroft better access, before he gently tugged at Mycroft's hair and grabbed his hip to pull him closer. 

“I wanna know what love is, I want you to show me,” Greg sang softly in Mycroft's ear, making him shiver. “I wanna feel what love is, I know you can show me.”

Mycroft turned his face towards Greg and kissed him. He sucked his tongue inside his mouth and licked it with just the right amount of pressure, that Greg thought he could feel every single taste bud. His hands held Greg's slim hips tightly and Mycroft thrust his crotch against Greg's.

“Fuck, Myc.” Greg was fighting a loosing battle with his lust. When Mycroft grabbed his bottom with both hands, grinding his crotch against Greg's to let him feel his hard-on, Greg was ready to come right then and there, despite all the people around them.

The song ended and Phil Collins' “One More Night” began. Mycroft pulled back a little, like he had come to his senses and remembered where they were. They kept dancing though, singing softly to each other.

The music lasted for another hour during which they held each other, sang and kissed, painfully aware, that this holiday soon would come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's actually a local band in the German town Lüneburg with the name "B-Sides". For the younger ones, in 1985 there were already CDs but most of us still listened to records. And the records had an A-side as well as a B-side. So the name is actually a bit of a pun.


	24. Telling the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John went to meet with Mycroft and Greg to go home after a long day at the town fair. But they only find a very upset Mycroft.

It was midnight when John and Sherlock decided they wanted to go home. Both teenagers were tired and they didn't want to be around all the drunken people that were still crowding the streets.  
They went to the church yard where they would meet Mycroft and Greg. John, who had taken hold of Sherlock's hand in the crowd and forgotten to let go when no more people were around, felt his friend stiffen beside him. He followed Sherlock's line of sight and saw Mycroft sitting on a low wall. His whole posture spoke of defeat. Slumped shoulders, head bent low and when they came closer John noticed that Mycroft had been crying. 

The older teenager rubbed furiously over his eyes, when he saw them coming. He knew he couldn't hide from Sherlock's observant gaze but that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

“What have you done now?” Sherlock stopped in front of his brother and crossed his arms in front of his chest. If he was aware that Mycroft had asked him the very same question only a couple of days ago, he didn't let on.

For a moment John wondered if he should stand beside Sherlock for support but he felt the brothers needed some time alone.

“Um, I'm going to take a leak.” John pointed into the general direction of some bushes. He didn't expect a reply and didn't get one but a slight shift in Sherlock's posture told him, that he had made the right decision.

“Are you going to keep crying like a girl or are you going to talk to me?” Sherlock inquired, when Mycroft neither looked up nor answered his question after John had left.

Rubbing across his eyes with the heel of his hand, Mycroft shook his head. “I told Gregory the truth.”

Sherlock knew that his brother had toyed with the thought that he would break up with Greg after the holiday. Something had happened in London, even the ring Mycroft wore ever since, couldn't compensate for. 

Mycroft had shown Sherlock the ring only this morning after breakfast. He had hidden it with a plaster for two days and hadn't Sherlock been so upset about the fight with John, he would have noticed right away that his brother had been hiding more than an injured finger under the plaster. When he had shown Sherlock the ring, Mycroft had been so ridiculously happy, that it had made Sherlock's head hurt. Seeing him now, looking utterly broken, didn't make much sense. But then, when it came to relationships, most things didn't make much sense to Sherlock. 

“You told him the truth? What truth could have possibly caused this?” Sherlock waved his hand in the general direction of his brother, who seemed to shrink even more. 

Mycroft radiated so much pain that Sherlock almost felt it as a physical blow. Other people might have sat down close, hugging the person in distress but Sherlock being, well Sherlock, he tried for a joke.

“Did you tell him you want him to bear your children?” 

A defeated shake of the head instead of the laughter he had hoped for, was the reaction he got. Sherlock wasn't a patient person. He held out his hand.

“Give me money so John and I can pay for a cab to take us home. Unless you want to talk.”

Mycroft sniffled before he looked at his brother. It took another Holmes to see the compassion in the green-blue eyes of his younger sibling.

“I told Gregory we couldn't be together once he started his training with the police.”

“Why not? You obviously l... care for each other.”

Mycroft lifted his head and for the first time looked at his brother. “We can't be together because I love him.”

“That's stupid.”

“There is this law, Sherlock. As long as I haven't reached the age of consent, which is twenty-one, Gregory is committing a crime having a relationship with me.” Mycroft swallowed before he continued. “And I have seen the Police Commissioner at the assessment centre in London literally kick out two men. He called them fairies and said that, I quote, no faggot would defile his institution. Do you think Gregory would stand a chance for a career with the police, if they found out we we are together?”

Sherlock looked out-right disgusted. 

“That is vile!” John chimed in. The brothers turned to him, not having noticed that he had returned. The small teenager slid beside his friend and took his hand again. “There's nothing wrong with liking another bloke.”

Sherlock looked at their joined hands with a dumbfounded expression before he directed his intense gaze at his brother again. 

“You turn twenty in a few months.”

“That doesn't change anything.” Mycroft looked like he would start crying again at any moment. “Sherlock, I care for Gregory as much as I care for you. I... I love him and I rather let him go than destroy his dream of becoming a police officer.”

Since when had his brother become such a sissy? Sherlock sighed. “And break your and his heart in the process?” Sherlock huffed. “Have you ever considered keeping your relationship a secret?” The younger Holmes looked at his older brother with the expression a mother would give her particularly disadvantaged toddler. 

“What do you mean, keeping it a secret?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That maybe you don't have to go around leering at each other all the time. Perhaps it would also help if you didn't stick your tongue down his throat whenever you have the chance.”

John looked disgusted and Mycroft turned a shade of scarlet that was even visible in the poor lighting of the street lamp. But he pulled a tissue from the pocket of his trousers and blew his nose. He knew he could keep a secret. Mycroft was good at keeping secrets. In fact, it was one of his greatest talents. Still.

“But what if Gregory doesn't want that?”

“I presume Greg just said you had a point and walked away when you told him you would leave him in a few days,” Sherlock said.

Mycroft lowered his gaze. “No, he didn't. Gregory...” He didn't want to tell his brother how upset Gregory had been, about the pained expression in those brown eyes, that he had downright implored Mycroft not to break up with him. He had kept telling him that he loved him. In the end Mycroft had actually shoved Greg away to make him leave. Before the man had turned and walked away with his hands curled to fists inside the pockets of his jeans, Mycroft had seen all the pain in his eyes. 

“So we go and look for him. Then you can make up and we can go home.” 

Only a forgiving soul like John Watson could make it sound so easy. But what else was there to do? 

Blowing his nose again, Mycroft nodded and climbed down from the wall he had sat on. “Okay, let's go.”


	25. Beaten Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg first gets drunk after the argument with Mycroft and later into a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today you're getting a second chapter. Hope it finds your approval.

By the time the three set out to find him, Greg was already very drunk. He had just spent his last money on another shot of whisky and a beer, which he took with him. Sitting on the ground beside one of the closed booths, he tried to figure out what had gone wrong that evening. 

After the dance, Mycroft and he had gone for a walk, held hands and stopped ever so often to exchange kisses. When they had seen a police patrol driving along the street, Mycroft had literally jumped back. Upon Greg's inquiry what was wrong, he had told him they couldn't be together, that their relationship would Greg prevent from ever having a career with the police. They wouldn't have a shared future.

It would be easier to understand, Greg thought, if there had actually been an argument but it was clear that Mycroft had come to his decision because he loved him. At least that's what he said. But maybe that had been just an excuse to get into his pants. Greg took a swing from his beer. Maybe Mycroft had lead him on all along and all the talk of love had been a red herring. 

The alcohol not only prevented Greg from thinking straight, it also made him miss the three young men who approached him slowly.

“Oi, mate. Got a fag?”

Greg looked at the man who had spoken with bleary eyes and shook his head.

“Then maybe you got money that I can buy some myself.”

Greg shook his head again without looking up. “No money either.” He took a swing from his beer. And before you ask, you can't have my beer. Trying to get drunk.”

“That's not very kind.”

“No,” another chimed in, “not kind at all.”

Greg really wanted to be alone so he struggled to his feet. “Then why don't you bugger off so you don't have to deal with me?”

Had Greg been less drunk and less distressed, he would have known that the trio had only been looking for an excuse to rough him up. 

He couldn't really tell if he had thrown the first punch but it had been probably the brute who had spoken to him first. A fist smashed into Greg's face, sending the beer flying and Greg falling to the ground. Greg was in good shape and even in his drunken state he would have been able to fend off one and maybe even two men but three was impossible. Soon he was held upright by two men and the third was delivering punch after punch in his stomach as well as his face. The last thing he heard before he fell to the ground unconscious, was a scream that reminded him of an outraged Sherlock.

* * *

When Greg came round a paramedic was hunched over him, shining with a small torch into his eyes. He tried to slap the light away but his hand was caught and held in a gentle grip. 

“It's all right, Gregory. They're trying to help you.”

“Myc?”

“Yes. Now, don't talk, Gregory.” 

Greg began to drift away again but somebody shook him and spoke in a loud voice to keep him awake. His head was spinning and all he could perceive were different voices.

“He needs stitches. We're taking him to St. Mary's.” 

“On three. One, two, three.” Greg was lifted onto a stretcher and moved into an ambulance. 

“You might want to come along and have your hand x-rayed. Could be broken.” 

“No.” Mycroft's voice. “I need to get my brother and his friend home.” 

“We can do that.” Another voice he didn't recognize.

“We're staying with Mycroft.” John Watson's voice.

The door of the ambulance was slammed shut and he couldn't listen any longer.

* * *

Sergeant Robert Johannson looked at the three teenagers, a slight smile on his face. Those three had beaten up the notorious Pike brothers pretty bad. A skinny twelve year old, the short thirteen year old and a slim nineteen year old teenager, who looked like the only physical work he knew was lifting a book to read.

They stood in front of St. Mary's hospital, waiting for the doctor on duty to finish patching up Greg.

“Now, Mr Holmes, would you mind telling me what happened?” Johannson asked.

“We were looking for my b... my friend, Greg, when we saw that he was being beaten up by those... men.” 

“Idiots,” Sherlock offered.

“Arseholes,” John added.

“Yes, well we couldn't let that happen so we interfered.”

The Sergeant hummed. “Interfered, right. Simon Pike has a broken arm.”

“It's only sprained,” John corrected him.

“Aside from several bruises, William Pike suffers from a fractured cheek-bone as well as a fractured nasal bone.”

“He fell on his face when I kicked his leg,” Sherlock told the Sergeant. 

“Uh um. How many times did he fall?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don't remember.” 

Johannson tried to prevent the grin that threatened to creep onto his face.

“Last but not least Ridley Pike. He has a split lip, a fractured nasal bone, a contusion of his lower abdomen, oh, and most interesting, a puncture wound through his left foot.”

Mycroft studied the illuminated sign above the hospital's entrance with keen interest. 

“Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft's gaze flickered to the police officer. “Oh, the puncture wound. Well, somebody apparently had lost his umbrella. I found it, took it along and it is possible that I used it to defend myself.” His thumb caressed lovingly over the wooden handle of the black Fox umbrella he had found leaning against a booth.

Johannson did his best to ignore the blood stain at the tip of the umbrella. 

“Okay, folks. I need you all to come in to give a statement tomorrow. I hope your friend will be up and about by then. And I mean tomorrow, not later today.” He looked at his watch. It was almost two and he hoped to end his night shift at three. “But I would advice you all not to show your faces in town after dark for some time. The Pike brothers are not the forgiving type. 

“We're all here on holiday and will leave in four days,” Mycroft said.

“That's good. So, I see all of you tomorrow afternoon. Try not to get into any more trouble, OK?” 

They nodded and Johannson walked away. He made it into his patrol car before he almost collapsed laughing. He really looked forward to getting the Pike brothers' statements. 

* * *

Greg was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, feeling still a bit woozy but much better than an hour ago, when Mycroft walked in. The nurse who had helped Greg to put his shirt back on after the doctor had examined the bruises at his torso, nodded and left. 

Both Mycroft and Greg had their eyes lowered to the ground, unable to look at each other.

Mycroft took a deep breath. If he wanted to save their relationship he had to be the one who rightfully took the blame. 

“Gregory, I am so sorry. It's all my fault and it was wrong sending you away,” Mycroft began. “I love you. I really do and I want to make this work.”

Greg studied the guilt-stricken man. Was he serious? Of course, Greg still loved him but he wouldn't want to get his hopes up and been send on his way as soon as Mycroft changed his mind again. And right now he felt neither well nor sober enough to talk it through.

“Myc, I...” Greg shook his head and winced. “Ow. Look, Myc, can we talk about this later. I'm tired and I'm still drunk. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Of course, Gregory.” Mycroft agreed immediately. “Shall I take you home?” He held up his bandaged hand. “It's only bruised. I can still drive.”

Greg gave him a slight grin. “Tomorrow you can tell me all about it,” he said. He climbed down from the hospital bed and walked through the door. 

 

Mycroft drove Greg directly to his grand-parents' house. He jumped out of the car, walked quickly to the passenger side and opened the door for Greg.

“Do you need help getting upstairs?” 

“No.” 

Mycroft's shoulders slumped but he nodded. “OK. Good night, Gregory. 

Greg nodded and unlocked the door. For a moment he just stood there, hanging his head and trying to make up his mind. With a huff Greg turned, walked back the few meters and gave Mycroft a chaste kiss on the lips before he went inside the house for good.


	26. Staying or Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg needs some time to think about his relationship with Mycroft but also about the reasons why he had been pushed away. Could Mycroft have had a point when he said his career with the police would be over if they were to stay together?

The night was dark and the roll of thunder could be heard in the far distance. Greg sat in the open window of the barn's upper floor, looking out into the night. The moon, peeping through the clouds, would have looked perfect for shooting a horror film. Only the howling of wolves was missing.

Greg had slept through most of the day and it had aided in getting rid of both his hangover and the headache the beating had caused. There were still a couple of bruises in his face and his ribcage but the rest had helped. Greg always healed quickly.

He had finally rolled out of bed in the early evening, had taken a shower and eaten some pasta his grandmother had cooked. Then he had called Mycroft and told him he needed tonight to think but he would see him tomorrow. The younger man had sounded disappointed but had understood that Greg needed the time.

To Greg's astonishment he had got a phone call only ten minutes later from John Watson. It had been Sherlock who had called but John had to do the talking while Sherlock whispered in the background what he wanted John to tell Greg. The bottom-line had been that Mycroft was in love with Greg and that Greg should give him a second chance. Greg had promised he would think about it before he had hung up. 

Listening to the sounds of the night Greg heard soft footsteps behind him and when he turned, he saw his grandfather approaching him. The old man held two steaming mugs with tea. He sat down next to Greg and offered him a mug. Greg took it. For a while they sipped the hot brew, none of them were talking.

“You always came up here when you were upset,” the old man said at length. “Even when you were a small boy and had got into trouble.”

“It's nice up here,” Greg said. “I like the smell of the hay and it doesn't matter if it's light or dark, warm or cold, raining or dry, it feels good sitting here.”

“This isn't about the beating you took, is it?” 

Greg shook his head.

“Trouble with your friend?” Pierre Lestrade hadn't said boyfriend but Greg knew he meant it.

“He gave me quite a lot to think about,” Greg said. He knew he could talk to his grandfather. The old man wasn't comfortable with the whole topic of being bi or gay but he cared for his grandson and therefore was willing to try to see his point of view.

His grandfather didn't press him and maybe that was the reason why Greg felt like talking. 

“Does it make sense to leave somebody you truly love?”

“Mycroft broke up with you?”

“He told me I would never have a career with the police as long as we were together. Mycroft said since he was under the age of consent I could probably forget about my career if we were caught. Furthermore he told me he saw the Commissioner of the Assessment Centre in London kick out two men because they were gay.”

Greg's grandfather hummed and fell quiet again. “Are those concerns reasonable?” he asked after he had carefully thought about it.

Greg shrugged. “In a way, yes. But I wonder if we couldn't stay together without other people knowing. At least for some time.”

“Maybe the reasons he gave you are an excuse,” Pierre Lestrade suggested.

Greg immediately shook his head. “No, I don't believe that. Mycroft... well, he looked utterly heartbroken when he told me and shoved me to go away. I don't think his tears were fake. I'm certain he loves me.”

“Can you imagine living with keeping your relationship a secret?”

“It wouldn't be easy but I think I could do it. Do you think I should?”

Greg's grandfather laughed softly. “That, my dear boy, is something I can't decide for you.” He stood up and began to walk away but turned before he left. “I can only tell you this much. If Mycroft was willing to let you go for the sake of what he thought would make you happy, although he loves you, he is definitely worth trying.”

* * *

Mycroft was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had tried to read but the meaning of the words kept escaping him completely. Thoughts of Gregory occupied his mind. It didn't matter if he closed his eyes or left them open, he saw Gregory's face. He saw him smiling, laughing but also with the disappointment shining in his eyes. Eyes that were brimming with tears. 

Pushing him away had seemed like the right decision yesterday. Mycroft was anything but impulsive and having acted on impulse for once had not only hurt him but also the man he loved. He looked at his right hand. The knuckles still looked bruised but his attention wasn't focused on the injury but the ring he wore. An inexpensive, golden band, acquired at a flea-market but to Mycroft it was the ultimate treasure, a token of love. 

“Gregory, I'm so sorry,” Mycroft whispered into the darkness, wishing Greg could hear him. He pulled the pillow from under his head and hugged it tightly to his chest. “Please, please, please. Let him give me another chance to prove that I'm worthy of his love.”

The kiss Gregory had pressed to his lips in the early morning before he had disappeared inside the house, gave Mycroft hope. He closed his eyes but sleep kept eluding him. 

* * *

Mycroft must have fallen asleep after all because he was startled when he heard a noise like something small had been thrown against the window pane. He blinked and heard the sound again. 'Plink!' Mycroft sat up and opened the window to look outside. 

The pale moonlight illuminated a figure standing outside. “Gregory?” he whispered.

“Yes. Would you open the door?”

“Sure, just a moment.”

Mycroft's heart was in his mouth when hurried downstairs as quietly as possible and opened the door. The sound of an engine being started could be heard and a car drove away.

Greg looked at the floor. “My grandfather brought me here.” 

“Although it is past midnight?”

“Yeah, I woke him up and he didn't even ask what I wanted. He just threw on a dressing gown over him pyjamas and got the car keys.” Greg scratched his hair in a somewhat helpless gesture.

Mycroft looked down at his own naked toes. He only wore his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. “Would you like to come in or,” he tried to hide the anxiety in his voice, “or did you only come to get your motorcycle?”

“I had hoped you would ask me inside.”

They walked quietly into the kitchen. All bedrooms were upstairs and Mycroft didn't want any of the other occupants of the house to wake up.

“Would you like anything? Tea or...” he waved his hand in the direction of the well stocked fridge. 

Greg shook his head. “No I only want to talk to you.”

“OK.” Mycroft sat down gingerly on the bench in the kitchen. Instead of sitting on one of the chairs at the other side of the table, Greg slid into the bench and moved closed to Mycroft.

“I've been thinking,”Greg began, “about all you said yesterday.” Mycroft swallowed hard. “You do have a point, worrying about the law and the homophobia.”

“Gregory...” Mycroft felt tears well up.

“No, let me finish.” Greg took Mycroft's right hand in his to rub his thumb over the ring. “This ring, Myc, it means something to me and I know it means as much to you.” He looked at the hand again, pulled it to his lips and kissed the bruised knuckles. “I refuse to let you go without a fight just because there is this stupid law and some stupid people.”

“You do?” Mycroft hardly dared to breath.

“I love you, Myc.” He ran his fingers over the younger man's cheek. “I might not be as good as deducing people as you are but I think you love me too. I want to give us another chance if you... hmmpf.”

Mycroft had crushed his mouth to Greg's like his very life depended on it. The angle was wrong and their teeth clunk together. They managed to rearrange their bodies and try again. This time their lips fit perfectly and Greg opened his mouth to allow Mycroft's tongue to enter. They kissed and when they broke up for air, Mycroft brought his mouth close to Greg's ear. 

“Yes, I love you too and about the second chance, a thousand times yes. I want to try. I was such a fool.”

They kissed again and while the almost melted against each other, they didn't even notice the two sets of eyes that watched them from the door, which, after a minute or so, was quietly pulled shut.


	27. Getting Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one more day until the holiday is over. At least Myroft and Greg are waking up in each other's arms agan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe that four weeks of holiday/of writing are almost over. Thank you all for staying with the story/ with me. I hope you enjoyed "the ride" and will do so for the remaining chapter.  
> Positive as well as constructive criticism is always welcome.

When Greg woke up with his head resting on Mycroft's chest, he knew he had made the right decision coming here during the night. Time was too short to waste it with holding a grudge. He kissed the freckled skin that was in convenient reach and let his hand that had been resting on Mycroft's stomach draw slow circles. The skin under his fingers began to twitch when he felt his way further down. He trailed his fingers along the waistband of the pyjama bottoms Mycroft wore, before he crept a hand inside.

Mycroft decided that waking up with Gregory in his arms and a morning erection that was immediately tended to, was probably as good as it could get. He combed with his fingers through Greg's hair, his arousal climbing quickly to heights he only knew since Gregory had come into his life. He rolled Greg onto his back, crushed his mouth to the inviting lips and sucked his lover's tongue into his mouth, eliciting a moan. 

A bit of fumbling and wiggling got Mycroft out of his pyjama bottoms and Greg out of his pants, before Mycroft straddled his hips again. They rolled around in the confinements of the bed and quickly making a mess of the sheets, while they kept touching and kissing. 

To stifle the shouts that heralded their completion, Greg bit down on Mycroft's shoulder, who in return buried his face in the pillow beside his lover's head. Eventually Mycroft collapsed heavily on top of Greg, making him groan when pressure was applied to the bruises. 

“God, I'm sorry, Gregory,” Mycroft apologized, trying to move away. 

Greg kissing the mark his teeth left on the red-head's shoulder and held him in place. “No, stay! It's OK.”

They stayed like this, listening to each others breathing until all of a sudden the door was flung open.

“You look like a beached whale,” Sherlock greeted his startled brother.

Mycroft cursed and pulled up the duvet to cover Greg.

“Have you ever considered knocking?”

“Why should I? There's nothing I haven't been forced to see before,” Sherlock commented. “Although the next time I'm going to ask John to fetch you. Since he wants to become a doctor he might as well get used to the creepy sights of his future profession.” 

“Out!” Greg and Mycroft shouted in unison.

Sherlock pouted and slammed the door shut. 

They hadn't even managed to produce sighs of relieve when the door was torn open again.

“And breakfast is ready.” The door was slammed shut again. 

“Is it possible, he was adopted?” Greg asked, while Mycroft climbed out of the bed. 

“No, I'm very certain he isn't.” Mycroft went hunting for a flannel and, after cleaning his stomach, he tugged on his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. Greg flitted inside the bathroom and took a very quick shower before he got dressed and they went downstairs. 

Greg said hello to Mycroft's grandparents when they sat down at the breakfast table.

“After you've given your statement this afternoon, we're taking John and Sherlock back to London,” Mycroft's grandmother said. “We want to visit an exhibition and we're going to look after the boys until John is picked up and your parents come home tomorrow.”

“We don't need a babysitter,” Sherlock said.

“Yes, you do!” A chorus of four told him, making John snicker and Sherlock pout some more.

“And I'm driving home tomorrow afternoon,” Mycroft said. His voice sounded rough and he quickly picked up his teacup to drink.

“Well, I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon too,” Greg said. He was even less successful in hiding his emotions, almost choking on the words.

For once Sherlock kept any snarky remark to himself and John as well as the grandparents avoided looking at both Mycroft and Greg.

 

After breakfast Greg rode his motorcycle back to his grandparents' house where Mycroft would pick him up later. They all needed to pack and since Greg wanted to spend the last night of his holiday with his boyfriend, he wanted to have everything ready when he would be picked up.

His grandparents understood and his grandmother even remembered that she had promised to give him an extra glass of her self-made jam for Mycroft. 

 

Half an hour before they were due to give their statement, Mycroft pulled up outside. During the trip John kept chatting about going home. He had had fun in the past weeks but now he looked forward to be reunited with his parents and his sister. Sherlock was alternately complaining how bored he would be and describing all the experiments he could perform, once he had his 'laboratory' and his time at his disposal again. John listened for a while until he finally leaned over and pecked Sherlock on his cheek.

“I'm going to miss you too.”

Sherlock blushed a ferocious scarlet and didn't talk until the arrived at they police station. 

* * *

Greg gave his statement first, although he hardly remembered anything except being beaten up. However, he recognized the Pike brothers in a folder full of photos he was shown.

Mycroft went in second and he stayed while first Sherlock and then John gave their statement.

Eventually Sergeant Johannson shook hands with all four of them, told them to stay out of trouble and they left.

 

Outside the grandparents sat in their car, already awaiting John and Sherlock's arrival. It was time for the first good-bys. Greg and Mycroft both shook hands with John, who looked quite sad all of the sudden. He quickly went to climb into the back-seat of the waiting car. 

Mycroft nudged his brother's shoulder affectionately but Greg grabbed the teenager and hugged him tightly before he had a chance to run away. Sherlock squeaked with indignation.

“What sort of brother are you?” he shouted at his very amused looking sibling. “I'm getting molested openly in the street and you choose to do nothing. I shall go back inside the police station at once and file a report.”

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock before he got as far as the stairs they had just descended. “When you come back out, grandmother and grandfather will have left and you have to stay with us until tomorrow, listening while we'll have sex in every single room of the house.”

Sherlock made retching sound and throwing angry looks at both Greg and Mycroft, he scrambled inside the car as fast as he could. 

“Bye, Locky,” Greg called. He was flipped off by the younger Holmes.

 

When the car had driven off, Mycroft grinned at his boyfriend. “So, what do you want to do for dinner?” He was seriously tempted to take Greg's hand and kiss him but managed to avoid the gesture.

“Would it be too much to ask for some of that delicious pasta from Giulia?”

“No, that's a great idea. And some wine perhaps?” Mycroft suggested.

“And Tiramisu?”

“God, yes!”

“Why don't you go ahead and pick up the food. I still have some shopping to do.” Greg pointed at the department store across the street.

“I presume my presence is not desired?” 

“No, my love. This is going to be a surprise.” Greg gave Mycroft a wolfish grin. 

The teenager blinked at the endearment but nodded. “So we meet back at the car at six?”

Greg nodded. Before Mycroft could walk away he stopped him. “Treat yourself a generous dish. You're going to need your strength tonight.” Seeing the pleasant shiver that ran across the younger man's shoulder, he walked away, whistling to himself.


	28. I Owe You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm not going o tell you what that chapter is about, except that this chapter is most likely worth 
> 
> rating E !
> 
> The E is not for violence but, surprise, sexual content.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did imaging and writing it.

Greg was driving Mycroft out of his mind. As planned they had met back at the car at six. Whatever shopping his boyfriend had done, it was hidden in Greg's ever present backpack. While they were driving back Greg kept humming some tune Mycroft wasn't sure he had heard before, giving him looks that were beyond dirty and kept adjusting his trousers ever so often. At least he had stopped touching Mycroft, since the teenager lost his driving skills as soon as physical contact was initiated. That is, as soon as Greg initiated it. Three days ago Greg had seen Sherlock even smack Mycroft over the head while he drove, which hadn't fazed him at all.

They carried the food into the kitchen. Greg told Mycroft he should start to set up the table. He just wanted to have a quick look in the attic where he and Sherlock had sung and danced several days ago.

Knowing that Gregory wouldn't tell him what he was up to, Mycroft shrugged but told him he had five minutes max, unless he wanted the food getting cold.

“No problem,” Greg replied. He placed a quick peck on Mycroft's lips and ran upstairs.

He switched on the light and looked around the room again. Yes, it was perfect for his purpose. Fortunately the room was kept clean. There was a small table and a couple of chairs stood in a corner. The record player was still there, and there was also the standard lamp with two spots that could be pointed in any direction.  
Greg swapped the bulbs of the lamp, put the cassette into the player and set it to the volume he thought right.  
He bounded back downstairs, grabbed his backpack and took one of the small lamps from the bedside table in the room John and Sherlock had previously occupied.  
Greg dragged the table and two of the sturdy wooden chairs into position, placed the bedside lamp on the table and brought the standard lamp into position.  
Studying his handy work, he rubbed his hands. Yes, that should do it. He grinned broadly when he hurried into the kitchen. 

Mycroft had set the table with the various containers at one side and their plates and wine glasses across from each other. Two candles cast a soft glow in the semi darkness of the kitchen.  
Dinner was delicious and they took their time enjoying it; feeding each other morsels of food and looking deeply into each other's eyes.  
They ate slowly, drank their wine and leaned forward ever so often to kiss.  
Both had enough before they had even touched the Tiramisu.

Greg was glad that he felt just a little tipsy from the wine. He was uncertain if Mycroft would enjoy the little surprise he had in store for him, never having it done before. Before he could change his mind, he leaned over the table to pull the teenager into a thorough kiss. 

“Let's put the Tiramisu in the fridge for later and get upstairs.”

Mycroft nodded. “Are you going to tell me now, what you have prepared?”

“Nope!” Greg grinned and took Mycroft's and his glass. “Bring the rest of the wine along. We... you might need it.”

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow but complied.

He looked around the attic but Greg guided him to his chair. When Mycroft wanted to turn the chair towards the table Greg shook his head. “No, Mr. Holmes! You want to face that direction.” He pointed towards the wooden pole in the middle of the attic. He switched on the lamp on the table. “Whatever you do, you can't leave that chair. Understood?”

Mycroft nodded. “Gregory...” 

“Just give me a minute.” 

Greg walked away and switched off the overhead lighting. The room was immediately plunged into darkness, the only light was coming from the bedside lamp now. Mycroft listened to the sound of Greg taking off his shoes and walking across the room on bare feet. 

Mycroft heard Greg taking a deep breath and start the record player. The music began with drums and then light from the standard lamp was switched on, illuminating Greg who took up position at the wooden pole. 

Mycroft's mouth fell open when Greg started moving. The man was dancing and slowly rotating his hips with the rhythm of the music. He turned, so the light fell onto his firm bottom, which he was swinging left and right, while looking over one shoulder. When Greg turned again, Mycroft saw, that Greg had opened two buttons of his shirt.

“Oh my God!” 

All so slowly and the whole time swaying to the rhythm of the music Greg began to undress. The well toned chest was exposed first. Mycroft had expected Greg to throw the shirt away, once he had taken it off. Instead he came closer until they almost touched and brushed the fabric across Mycroft's face, letting the teenager inhale his scent before he threw the shirt across the room. 

Mycroft bit his lips when Greg danced back into the spotlight. The dancing man ran his hands over the front of his trousers suggestively and Mycroft's eyes were glued to the zip that was pulled down excruciatingly slow. Greg seemed to ponder if he should open the button but came towards Mycroft. Rotating his hips he indicated with his chin that he should do it. The younger man reached for the button with shaking hands. His fingers fumbled for a moment but eventually managed to open it. Before he could touch Greg any further, he danced away again. 

The man kept turning and rotating his hips, rotating slowly and rubbing first his bottom then his front along the pole. Mycroft's jaw had gone slack with desire and he literally drooled when Greg suddenly fixed him with a stare, sucked his index finger into his mouth an let his eyes roll back with pleasure. The younger man thought he might have fainted because suddenly the jeans were around Greg's ankles. 

Greg was thrilled that he managed to dance out of his jeans without falling flat onto his face. Watching his lover getting turned on from the simple act of undressing himself, was a boost to his ego but also made his blood pool low in his belly. 

Sweat was on Mycroft's brows when he saw that thing Greg was wearing. A silky piece of fabric that barely accommodated his lover's package and when Greg once again presented him with his bottom, it was bare with only a string that ran between his cheeks. 

The song changed. This one Mycroft knew. It was 'He's a Dream' from the film Flashdance. Greg walked towards him, his hips rolling suggestively. 

Greg surely wouldn't, he couldn't... Any sensible thought Mycroft's brain might have been able to produce was reduced to a moan, when Greg straddled his hips.

 

Mycroft was already so very hard in his trousers he thought his cock could punch a hole through the fabric and now Greg was rubbing his equally hard cock and that beautiful bottom of his over Mycroft's crotch. 

The man leaned forward and licked the shell of the younger man's ear, eliciting another moan.

“Did you think I forgot I owed you a striptease and a lap dance?” Greg bend backwards and groaned sinfully. He took Mycroft's hands in his and placed them on his bottom.

“Hold me, Gorgeous,” he whispered and the moment he felt Mycroft indeed hold him, he tipped his head back, stretched his torso, pinched both his nipples into tight knobs and moaned again.

That did it. Loosing all control, Mycroft snapped his hips forward. He grabbed Greg's hips hard enough to bruise and pulled his bottom down hard. He rutted against him once, twice and shouting his lover's name, Mycroft came inside his trousers.

Greg watched Mycroft with lust blown eyes collapse in the chair. He stood and being in an equally aroused state, he freed his cock, stroke himself firmly and within seconds he came all over his hand. 

He sat down heavily on the other chair and for a few minutes they took turns, drinking the rest of the wine from the single glass.

“I wish,” Mycroft croaked eventually, “I had that on tape, Gregory.” He got up and pulled Greg from the chair right into his arms. His hands were fisted in the soft strands to hold Greg in place while he tried to kiss him silly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, please do tell me what you think about that chapter?


	29. The Big Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, right? Gregory and Mycroft spent four mostly wonderful weeks together. Time to go home and start the training to become a police officer or leaving for an internship and study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for staying with the story, leaving kudos and comments.
> 
> Heaps of thanks go epsecially to Sabine, who encouraged me to keep going and took care of the worst mistakes I made. 
> 
> The mistakes that are still there are mine and mine alone. I apologize to those who cringe ever so often when the grammar is particularly bad. My only apology is that neither Sabine nor I are native speakers and we're trying to "muddle through" to the best of our abilities.

Greg took a drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke. He didn't smoke often and only when he felt he needed to relax his nerves. Now was such a time but he knew that the cigarette wouldn't really help. 

He sat outside the house on a swing hammock. His gaze was unfocused and he saw neither the moon nor the stars that were shining brightly. 

All he could think about was Mycroft who slept upstairs in his bed. Greg had held him when the younger man had fallen asleep, sated but exhausted after another round of mind-blowing sex. He too was tired but he had wanted to enjoy Mycroft's presence for as long as possible before they would part in a few hours. 

He had caressed the soft ginger strands that had fallen across the younger man's forehead. When Mycroft had made a soft sound in his sleep and had leaned into the touch, Greg had felt a lump building in his throat and tears had threatened to spill. Even as a boy he had never been the type who cried easily but the thought of parting with Mycroft was so very painful. 

Not wanting to disturb his sleeping boyfriend, he had gone up and pulled Mycroft's sweater over his pyjama before he had headed outside to smoke.

When would be the next time they saw each other? Probably not before Christmas which was almost five month away. 

The wind picked up and Greg huddled into the sweater. He hadn't heard the soft footsteps and was slightly startled when Mycroft came into view, a blanket tucked under his arm. He sat down right next to Greg, spread the blanket over them and they snuggled close to each other. Soon it was comfortably warm under their blanket.

“When is your flight leaving?” 

“Tomorrow morning at five to ten.” 

“And where are you going to stay?”

“A business partner of my mother has an apartment in Manhatten close to Central Park. They have an extra room that even comes with its own en-suite bathroom. My internship will start the following day.”

Greg hummed, wishing he could go with Mycroft. He had never been to New York and the city intrigued him. But for all he knew, he'd probably travel with him to Greenland or India and would be happy. 

He ran his fingers along Mycroft's shoulder and began playing with one of the soft strands of hair. 

“Yes, I do have to get a haircut before I leave,” Mycroft said. 

“I like your hair like this,” Greg told him. Mycroft huffed. “It curls a bit now that it's longer and it is certainly a lighter shade than on the day we met.” Greg twisted a strand around his index finger.

Mycroft pulled Greg's hand away from his hair. “If we stayed together for another month, I'd probably be bald as an egg.” He kissed Greg's palm. “Did you always have been this infatuated with hair?”

“With you, I developed a hair fetish,” Greg laughed. Nuzzling along Mycroft's jaw and down where the neck met his shoulder he added, “and a freckle fetish.” 

“Right!”

Greg laughed, knowing that Mycroft absolutely didn't get why Greg was so fascinated with his dappled skin. “The more freckles, the better your skin tastes.” Greg kissed his way along Mycroft's neck.

“It does not,” the teenager told him but he tilted his head to give his boyfriend better access.

“Does too” Greg insisted. Without a warning he dove with his head under the blanket, lifted Mycroft's shirt and kissed the skin just below his belly button, knowing there was an exceptional large cluster of freckles. “You're delicious down there,” came the muffled report.

Mycroft shook his head but dove under the blanket as well. “You are impossible.” He caught Greg's mouth in a sloppy kiss. 

“Talking about delicious, do you think we should eat the Tiramisu now?”

Greg licked the tip of Mycroft's nose, startling him. “That is a very good idea.” 

They scrambled off the swing hammock and went inside. Greg got the container with the Tiramisu from the fridge and Mycroft grabbed two spoons. Instead of sitting at the kitchen table, they went upstairs. Stripping down to their pyjama bottoms, they got settled with their backs leaning against the headboard of the bed, their dessert resting on the duvet. 

For a while they were only enjoying the sweet treat but eventually Mycroft nudged Greg's arm and instead of shoving the spoon full of Tiramisu into his mouth, it landed on Greg's chin and his chest.

“Oh, I'm so very sorry, Gregory” Mycroft said, before he leaned over and licked away the Tiramisu.

Greg considered to retaliate but Mycroft possessed a great deal more hair on his chest than Greg and as much as Greg enjoyed running his fingers or nose through it, he didn't fancy this special feature of Mycroft being sticky with dessert. 

More Tiramisu landed on Greg's chest and somehow a large dollop even managed to land directly on his right nipple which was immediately licked clean, leaving Greg craving no longer for food but his lover's touch. The spoons and the almost empty container were moved to the bedside table and for the next half hour Greg couldn't help but admire how skilfully Mycroft took him apart, only using his tongue.

* * *

It was about eight when two tired and thoroughly shagged looking man went into the shower and raided the kitchen for breakfast. Greg collected all his belongings and together they put the sheets and towels into the washing machine before Mycroft carried his bags downstairs. 

Almost time to say good-bye. When Mycroft caught Greg once again playing with his hair, he hurried upstairs to the bathroom and came back with a tiny box. He gave it to Greg who curiously studied the contents. Greg couldn't help laugh when he found a curl of Mycroft's hair inside the box.

“I'm going to treasure it, you know?”

Mycroft grinned. “I do.”

They walked to the car, threw Greg's bag and backpack inside and Mycroft drove his boyfriend back to his grandparents' house.

He parked the car at the curb and they got out. 

“So, this is it then.” Mycroft looked at the ground, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Yes... oh, man, I almost forgot,” Greg shouted. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out the glass with strawberry jam his grandmother had given him for Mycroft. Instead of handing it over, he opened the jar, dipped a finger inside, sucked the jam inside his mouth and sat the glass down. He didn't swallow the jam but pulled Mycroft close and kissed him, sucking his tongue into his mouth so they could share the taste of the strawberries.

Mycroft licked his lips when the kiss ended. “That was delicious,” he declared.

Greg picked up the jar, screwed the lid back on and gave it to the younger man. “Now every time you eat that jam you will remember me,” Greg said earnestly. “I too have a glass.”

“A glass full of kisses.”

Suddenly tears were in their eyes. Quickly the jar was set to the ground again and for one last time they hugged and kissed, desperately clinging to each other.

“I love you, Gregory.”

“And I love you, Myc.”

“I promise, I will write.”

Greg couldn't help but sniff “You do that. And I'm going to write back.”

“We can do this, Gregory. I mean without endangering your career.”

Greg nodded. “Now go, before I change my mind and try to persuade you to run away with me to Gretna Green.”

Mycroft complied. Taking the jar with the jam, he went into his car and started the engine. Seeing Gregory in the rear mirror waving, Mycroft lowered the window. He too waved good-bye when he drove off. And the sunlight reflected from the ring that bound them together.


	30. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten weeks after the holiay, Greg and Mycroft meet again - thanks to a certain Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the summer of 1985 Greg Lestrade and Mycroft fell in love with each other. Being a plain and simple narrator, I asked them, what happened afterwards and if they continued their relationship. Here is another special day they are willing to share with us.

Cynthia Palmer looked at her watch. It was only ten thirty and their teacher, William Bolden, kept going on and on about assault occasioning actually bodily harm. Her gaze wandered over to the trainee who sat next to her. Greg Lestrade's eyes were glued to the teacher, ever so often he wrote something in the exercise book in front of him and he even asked questions. Clever questions! She had no idea how the man did it. Ten weeks into their training and he was top of the class in both theoretical studies as well as practical ones. Most days he had his nose buried in a book or was running laps around the training ground. Matthew Burns who shared the room with him, had an explanation though. No girlfriend. Cynthia shot Greg another look. She really didn't get it. He looked handsome enough and once in a while his eyes seemed to glaze over like he thought of a loved one.

“Palmer, maybe you could provide an answer?” 

Cynthia cringed. She hadn't even heard the question that had been asked. “If you could repeat the question again, Sir.”

“There has been no question, Palmer. But maybe you could direct your attention back to me instead of drilling a hole into Lestrade's head with your eyes.”

Cynthia blushed furiously and Greg gave her a confused look. 

The moment she nodded there was a knock on the door and Charles Portman, the officer from administrations, entered. 

“Mr. Bolden, I'm here to fetch Greg Lestrade.”

“Lestrade, Commissioner Reich wants to see you.”

The trainees began to talk among themselves. 

“Quiet,” Bolden ordered. “You can go Lestrade.”

Greg nodded and got up.

“Better bring your stuff. Don't think you're coming back today.” 

Greg hurried to stuff everything in his bag and headed outside.

 

When he entered the Commissioner's office he was shocked to see Sherlock Holmes sitting in one of the chairs. The boy was clutching a tissue and his eyes were wet with tears.

Greg felt all colour drain from his face.

Before he could ask a question, Reich stood up. 

“You don't have to talk about it here, Lestrade. Your brother explained that there has been an explosion and...” Reich looked down at his hands, unable to finish the sentence. 

Brother? Why would Sherlock tell the Commissioner he was his brother. But maybe the man had mixed up that whatever Sherlock had told him was about his brother. And an explosion? Mycroft? Oh God no! Please, no!

“You can go home and... and sort things out. You're top of the class, Lestrade and I doubt that missing two days here will make much of a difference. And if you need longer, we'll all understand.”

Greg began to tremble. He nodded wordlessly and watched Sherlock getting up. The teenager produced a noise like he was suppressing a wail, shook the Commissioner's hand and left the office.

Reich was a burly man and not known for showing much compassion but before Greg could leave his office he came around his desk and placed a hand on Greg's shoulder.

“You might train to become a police-officer but loosing someone like this is terrible. I give you my condolences. And if you need to talk, my door is open for you.”

Greg nodded but not trusting his voice, he followed Sherlock outside wordlessly. He felt like he would throw up any moment. Catching up with Sherlock outside the building, he saw a limousine with a chauffeur was idling near the curb. 

“Sherlock, wait!” Greg stopped the teenager by taking hold of his sleeve. “Mycroft, is he...?” Greg couldn't say it.

“What, dead?” Sherlock shook his head. “Don't be silly. Get in the car.” 

Once inside the car, Greg studied Sherlock who looked very much like his usual self. In a word, smug.

“Look, today is the 17th October. As you might be aware, it is Mycroft's birthday. I spent all my money on a new microscope and so I decided you would make a nice gift when my brother came home tonight.”

Greg blinked. “You mean, the whole story you told the Commissioner was a ruse? Nothing of whatever it is you told him was true.”

Sherlock shrugged. “He will never know. And nobody here will expect you to talk. No-one is truly interested in your personal affairs.”

“Oh god!” Greg buried his face in his hands. He began to feel sick to the stomach all over again. If they found out he would be fucked. But now there was no way back.

“I need to change,” he said, indicating the uniform he wore.

Sherlock tilted his head. “I think Mycroft would be rather fond of you wearing the uniform and since your only other state of dressing will most likely be undressed...” 

That did it. Greg slapped the back of Sherlock's head. 

“Ouch! What was that for?” The teenager looked insulted and rubbed the back of his head.

“I need to change!” He growled. “And you can consider yourself lucky that I don't rearrange your face right here right now.”

Even Sherlock understood that Greg was angry enough to punch him and clamped his mouth shut.

The chauffeur dropped Greg off at the building that housed the accommodation. He ran upstairs, changed and packed in a hurry. Before he took his bag and left, he fetched a can of coke from the fridge to knock back two aspirins. A few minutes later he sat beside Sherlock in the back of the posh car, trying to sort through the emotions that assaulted him. One moment he had feared Mycroft had been killed in an explosion, the next he had to come to terms with the fact that Sherlock had decided to present Greg as a birthday gift to his brother and if the Commissioner ever found out that Sherlock had been lying through his teeth, Greg's arse would get kicked straight into next week. 

* * *

When Greg and Sherlock arrived in London, the first thing Greg did was call his parents. He got his mother on the phone and since he trusted her he told her the whole story. Sherlock was hovering nearby, listening what Greg told his mother.

“The only thing I really don't know, mum,” Greg told her in the end, “is how an explosion in which people got killed, would be kept out of the press. If there's nothing on TV or in the newspaper, I don't think they're going to buy it at school.”

“There was an explosion this morning, Greg.”

“What? Where?” 

“In London, near the office where your father works. It was a rubbish container that exploded and burned. In the beginning they really thought somebody had been killed because they found a few burnt body-parts. As it turned out they had been stolen from the morgue.”

“Body-parts stolen from the morgue?” Greg could hardly believe his ears. His eyes flicked to Sherlock, who suddenly remembered that he wanted some tea and disappeared into the kitchen.

When Greg came into the kitchen a few minutes later, the teenager was busy with the kettle. Greg studied the thin silhouette for a moment. 

“Well, Sherlock. It looks like we are lucky. What a coincidence that just this morning an explosion occurred that could have hurt or killed my father. Theoretically.”

Sherlock turned, his strange, blue eyes directed at his brother's boyfriend. “So you will be able to explain the mix-up on Monday.”

Greg grabbed the boy, pulled him in for a quick hug and ruffled the dark mop of curls before the teenager could escape. 

“You are impossible!” Greg took the peace-offer, a mug with piping hot tea. “Now, how are we going to turn my impromptu visit into a real good surprise for Mycroft?”

Sherlock grinned and sat down across from him.

* * *

It was almost seven before Mycroft could finally escape the office. He had a one week project from university during which he had to monitor the performance of various Government facilities and write a term paper about his observations. Mycroft was certain that at least in two offices changes would be made after the release of his paper because those offices worked rather inefficiently. 

At least he wouldn't have to work on Friday and the weekend was free too. His parents were on a trip to China but Mycroft looked forward to spend some time with Sherlock. 

Well, yes, Sherlock. It was Mycroft's birthday and he wondered what Sherlock had come up with this year. Last year the teenager had cross-bred some green algea just for him and had named it accordingly 'Myroftdictyon Vulgara'. He still wasn't certain if he should be flattered or offended.

Unlocking the door he called out for Sherlock. When the teenager appeared he looked nervous. 

'Oh dear!'

“Good evening, Sherlock,” Mycroft greeted him, hanging his coat on the rack.

“Happy birthday, Mycroft!” Sherlock gave him the quickest hug possible before jumping back. “I left your present in your room.” 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said while adding 'I think' in his mind, especially since Sherlock headed into the living-room instead of accompanying his brother to inspect the present together with him. Mycroft prepared himself mentally and physically before he slowly opened the door to his room, expecting a gigantic tarantula or something along that line attacking him the moment he opened it. 

Mycroft could hardly believe his eyes. On his bed, sound asleep, lay Gregory. His Gregory. Adorned with a bow around his wrist and a note that said 'Happy birthday, Mycroft!' in Sherlock's handwriting. 

Mycroft walked over to the bed and sitting down beside Greg, he touched his face gently. 

“Gregory, wake up.”

Brown eyes fluttered open in an instance and a smile spread across Greg's face.

“Mycroft!” 

He pulled the younger man down for a hug and thorough kiss. They clung to each other, kissing and touching like they couldn't believe they were together again. Eventually Greg pulled back and studied Mycroft's appearance.

His lips were swollen from kissing and the hair that had looked perfect a few minutes ago, was a mess. Mycroft stood up and tried to smooth down a particular insolent lock that curled over his forehead. 

“Look at you.” Greg's voice was full of admiration. “You look gorgeous in that suit.” 

Mycroft wore a dark-blue pinstripe with a white shirt and a burgundy tie and a matching square in his breast pocket. 

Ignoring the compliment and the stubborn lock, Mycroft leaned down for another kiss. “How long are you here for?”

“If you will have me, until Sunday afternoon,” Greg replied.

“Would you have dinner with me, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, his voice quite rough. 

“With you and Sherlock, I presume?” 

Mycroft nodded. 

“I'd like that very much. But I have nothing that is even rudimentarily comparable to your suit.

“Don't worry, I'm going to change into something more casual.” Mycroft shrugged out of the jacket and his hands went to the waistcoat he wore, when Greg stopped him.

“Um Myc, if you're getting undressed now, we will have either a very late dinner or breakfast.” Greg had the decency to blush. 

They agreed on taking turns changing and Mycroft left the room to talk to Sherlock. He needed a moment to compose himself anyway.

He walked to the living-room where Sherlock was hovering nervously, looking like he was ready to bolt. Before the teenager could react, Mycroft grabbed him and crushed him to his chest. “I have no idea how you managed to get him here but thank you, Sherlock!” He released the squirming boy from his grip and whipped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Why don't we go out and have dinner,” Mycroft suggested. “Maybe John likes to join us.”

Sherlock's eyes went wide. “Seriously? The four of us?” 

“Of course. I can't imagine a better way of celebrating my birthday than dining out with Gregory and the two of you.”

* * *

Dinner was spectacular and later on when he curled up in his bed with Gregory, Mycroft decided that this had been the best birthday he ever had. 

Greg and Mycroft spent the weekend together and on Sunday Greg was returned to the College with the limousine. Christmas was still far away, Greg thought, but with having a Sherlock Holmes for a friend, one never knew if something unexpected would come up to shorten the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, 29 years later they are, of course, still an item. I can't prossibly write all that happened in those years, often it's top secret anyway. But I can tell you this much. If you ever happen to come across that lake where Gregory and Myc met in 1985, maybe you walk over to the weeping willow, which is still there. In a moonlit night in summer, you might even find a carefuly folded suit as well as a pair of jeans and an Arsenal shirt underneath the tree. In this case you probably would want to give the night-swimmers some privacy and withdraw politely because it was only a couple of years ago that Mycroft decided it was okay to go skinny dipping with his beloved.


End file.
